


Demons Old & New

by HollyDB, Kimmie_Winchester



Series: The Disco Chronicles [6]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Saved By the Bell (TV), Supernatural, The West Wing
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Crack, Crack Crossover, Crack Relationships, Crack Treated Seriously, Crack and Angst, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Drama & Romance, Established Relationship, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Gen, Multiple Crossovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:07:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 41,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22546027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HollyDB/pseuds/HollyDB, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kimmie_Winchester/pseuds/Kimmie_Winchester
Summary: Faith and Dean navigate their relationship while trying to keep certain things under wraps. Meanwhile, a heartbroken Sam Winchester regrets breaking up with Dawn Summers -- even more so when Dawn shows up with a hot new boyfriend. Still desperately in love with Sam, Dawn begs Buffy and Spike to return to Kansas, and they arrive in time to help Faith launch the hunt for Angel, whose soul is waiting to go home. In California, Sam Seaborn and Willow Rosenberg attempt to keep their relationship under wraps as he comes closer to receiving the nomination for the highest office in the land. And Rosalie grapples with being the youngest slayer among legends and what that means for her own shaky legacy.In terms of Buffy fandom, this is a continuation of an extremely unofficial sequel toHarbingers of Beatrice.Includes OCs from that story.Continuity with previous installments is something we strive for but do not guarantee
Relationships: Angel/Original Female Character, Cordelia Chase/Original Male Character(s), Dawn Summers/Sam Winchester, Dawn/Original Character(s), Faith Lehane/Dean Winchester, Josh Lyman/Donna Moss, Kelly Kapowski/Zack Morris, Rupert Giles/Mary Winchester, Sam Seaborn/Willow Rosenberg, Spike/Buffy Summers, Wesley Wyndam-Pryce/Original Female Character(s), Winifred "Fred" Burkle/Wesley Wyndam-Pryce
Series: The Disco Chronicles [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1412851
Kudos: 4





	1. Chapter 1

After months of being with Faith—with, beside, inside, on top of…really, the list went on—Dean would have thought he’d passed the point of walking into the room and sporting an instant boner at the sight of her. Maybe it was the soul mate thing, or maybe it was because she was the sexiest fucking woman on this or any planet, but his dick was just as easy to excite now as it had been the first time he’d laid eyes on her.

Which, considering that first time had been in a cemetery right before she died, probably said more about him than he wanted to consider.

“What…” Dean swallowed, eyeballing her up and down. “What are you wearing?”

Faith whirled around, which made the situation in his pants go from _watch_ to _warning_ in about two seconds flat. The back of her outfit had been enough—skin-tight black leather that showed off her perfect ass and reminded him of the bliss of being inside said ass. The front, though, was where good intentions went to die and bad intentions went to hell. More of that painted-on leather, only with a generous dip in the cleavage region. The sleeves were about three-quarter length, then tapered off into fishnet covering. There was a choker-type thing around her neck and a simple black mask over her eyes. And the shoes—had he mentioned the shoes? A boot-high heel combination that had him picturing her in just those and nothing else.

Faith smirked that _gonna get laid_ smirk of hers, then extended her arms and jutted out her hip. “Costume arrived,” she said. “Just makin’ sure it was tight in the right way.”

“C-costume?”

She rolled her eyes. “Ducky, you’re the one who insisted we do Halloween.”

“That’s… What the hell are you supposed to be?”

Faith plucked something off the bed—a headband—and affixed it to her head, completing the ensemble with a pair of pointy ears. “Catwoman.” She paused, then dropped her gaze to the package in his hands—the thing he’d come in here to show her. “More toys?”

Dean blinked stupidly then glanced down. “I…uhh…got us costumes.” He hesitated, wanting now to throw the damn things away. Or maybe she’d go along with it and leave the Catwoman get-up for some very naughty role-play. He grinned sheepishly and raised the package. “Get it? Me plug, you outlet?”

Faith gave him one of those looks that said plainly she was weighing the value of continuing their relationship. “Wow.”

“To be fair, this was before I saw you wearing…” He gestured inarticulately at her. What his mouth wasn’t able to say, though, his dick had no trouble communicating. If he got any harder, embarrassed or not, he was going to burst out of these jeans like the fucking Incredible Hulk. “But Kitty, you might consider bein’ an outlet. Not sure I can be around you lookin’ like that all night without embarrassing myself.”

“Story of your life, then,” she repeated. “I ain’t goin’ as an outlet. You can fucking forget it. Besides…” She ran her hands down the sides of the Catwoman outfit. “Half the fun of this stupid holiday is the role play. Here I thought you’d be into it.”

“I’ll be very into it in a minute.”

She laughed outright, holding up a hand. “Down, Ducky. This ain’t real leather. You might actually rip it.”

“Is that supposed to make me not wanna do it? ‘Cause I gotta tell you, not the best tactic.”

“Let me at least wear it to the party.” Faith flashed him one of those killer smiles and sashayed her way toward him, made claws with her hands and ran them down his chest. “Good boys get to stroke their kitties in public.”

His throat went so tight he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to do more than wheeze ever again. But somehow he managed to croak, “What should I do with these?” and hold up the reject costume packages.

She considered for a moment, her nose wrinkling. Then her eyes sparked with brilliant mischief and she cackled. “Go give ‘em to Nick. He’s been tryin’ to figure out what to do for him and Ro. Poor guy’s super into Halloween and the kid ain’t never been.”

Dean felt his eyes go wide. “What? No! We already got one buzzkill around here—we don’t need two.”

“Sammy?”

“Yeah, and since he’s been Mr. Happy Pants the past six months, odds are good he’s gonna be extra crabby.”

“Uh huh. Especially since he lost the bet.”

“Bet? What, there was a bet?” And why hadn’t he known about it? Why hadn’t he been in on it? “Fay, we have house rules. If we’re fuckin’ with Sammy, we’re _all_ fucking with Sammy. We don’t hold out on each other.”

She rolled her eyes, smirking. “Was between him and the kid,” she said. “You hear him talk about that wicked training course?”

Yeah, probably, but that didn’t mean he’d been paying attention. There wasn’t much Sam talked about these days that didn’t involve slayers, slaying, and the next yet-to-be-named apocalypse. Dean figured it was part of the _getting over Dawn_ regimen rather than the Watcher gig, and he was trying to cheat with a two-for-one deal. Which was understandable considering he’d been absolute shit at getting over Dawn when left to his own devices and he wasn’t open to talking about it with anyone. Perhaps especially not Dean.

And yeah, as much as that sucked, Dean understood. Wasn’t easy talking about your romantic failures when your brother was one half of the perfect fucking couple. And that wasn’t ego talking—it was Chuck-verified information. Not that Dean put much stock in Chuck where pretty much anything was concerned, but this soul mate thing was something else. Hell, it was everything, and damn if that didn’t make it hard to not wake up every morning with a bit more spring in his step than had been there the day before. All of this added up to making it a bitch to hide how blissfully fucking happy he was, even when he knew it was the decent thing to do around his mopey brother.

So Sam had buried himself in watcher stuff. Ro was now averaging around two hundred miles a month thanks to their morning jogs—something that she hadn’t been shy about bitching about. He’d bullied Faith into more training sessions than Dean could count, barking things about making sure Rose was prepared for whatever came next and that she needed to start acknowledging that she wasn’t the big noise around here anymore. Which Dean knew Ro freaking loved—even if it had shit all to do with Ro herself, she was one hundred percent behind the sentiment.

So Faith had hit the training hard, going easy on the girl at first and then, when Baby Spice’s attitude had gotten too big for her britches, knocking her on her ass to give her the wake-up call she still needed. She did most of this without bitching—out there, at least. Like she figured Sam was trying to get her to cry uncle and wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. And truthfully, she didn’t bitch too much to Dean, either, though he could tell she wasn’t as honky dory as she wanted to come across. She was walking the line of keeping the peace, and likely figured that as long as he was hyper-focused on training and shit, he wouldn’t have much time to pine for Dawn or demon blood or both.

“Pretend for a second that Sammy’s never told me about this training course,” Dean said.

Faith tsked and shook her head, and somehow she’d walked him back to the bed without his noticing. The next thing he knew, she was in his lap, her arms linked around his neck, and he had his hands full of her faux-leather clad ass, the stupid costumes spilling onto the floor by his feet. “You gonna actually listen,” she asked before nipping at his lips, “or you plannin’ on tuning me out too?”

“Baby, when your mouth’s in motion, I’m always paying attention.”

“Yeah, watchin’…but listening?”

He grinned and squeezed her ass. “Huh?”

“That’s what I thought.” She took mercy on him and pulled a long, hot kiss off his lips—the sort that made him care less about whatever the fuck they’d been talking about and more about peeling off that catsuit. It didn’t help matters when she started wiggling on his dick in the way she knew drove him out of his mind. Then she pulled back, stared into his eyes for a moment, and grinned. “So Sammy started putting together this bitch of a combat training course with the works. Quantico wants its hands on this thing, it’s so lit. And I know it, ’cause the son of a bitch has me run it for him every time he adds something new. A couple of weeks ago, he made it interesting. If she managed to beat my time three times in a row, she’d get to tell him what to be for Halloween.”

Dean threw his head back and tittered. “Oh, this is so beyond good. But…wait, Ro beat your time?” He paused. “Three times in a row?”

Now she gave him one of the looks that told him he was being a slow ducky.

“Never said I was running at full speed, now did I?” She winked. “Just fast enough to motivate the kid.”

“You sneaky bitch.” God, he loved her. “And Sammy never knew?”

“Sammy doesn’t know how fast I am. Only time he’s seen me run was when I was three sheets to the wind, and even if I wasn’t then, wasn’t like he had a timer handy.”

Or that he would’ve noticed. Dean’s good mood sobered a bit. Not much, but a bit. One of the agreements he and Faith had made after everything went down with Lucifer and Hell was discussing any of that shit was on the table in terms of things they could reference, but that didn’t mean it didn’t smart. Every time he thought about it, about Faith busting tail to get to the cemetery to save his unworthy ass after everything he’d thrown at her, it made him want to crawl under a rock or into the bottom of a bottle. But then she’d smile that just-for-him Faith smile, and he’d check himself. Remind himself they’d already gone down that road, had the big talks, and come out stronger despite everything.

Faith knew what he was thinking, of course. Not only did she know him too well, she was clued into his feelings, something that was still taking some getting used to. She played with the hair at his nape and nibbled on his chin, waiting for him to get to the other side.

At length, he shook it off and grinned. “So what was the bet? What’s Sammy gotta do?”

“She picked his costume.”

“She…she got him to dress up? No shit!” Damn, this was shaping up to be the best Halloween ever. Not only did he have the hottest woman in the freakin’ world in his lap—a girl who told him on the regular that she loved his unworthy ass—but his _brother_ was going to participate in his least-favorite holiday? This couldn’t possibly get any better.

“As a Teletubby.”

The bad news? The wood in his pants was officially gone.

The good news?

Holy fucking shit, the good news.

Dean fell back against the bed, arms full of Faith, laughing so hard his chest, stomach, and sides ached. Tears stung his eyes and his mouth hurt, and every time he thought he might get in himself under control, he’d picture Sam waddling around in a big dumb costume and lose it all over again.

“You did this, didn’t you?” he gasped as he managed to reclaim control of his vocal cords.

Faith was braced on her elbow, studying him with a look he definitely didn’t deserve. “Did what? Put the idea into Sam’s head that Ro could be motivated to work if the reward was his utter humiliation? It mighta been suggested.”

“I fucking love you.”

“Uh huh.” She smirked. “So go drop the costume rejects off with Nick…then you can come back and help me get out of this thing.” She rolled over to show off that peach of an ass, drawing his attention to the zipper that ran from the small of her back to the base of her neck. “You won’t believe how hard it was to wiggle in. Had to get extra bendy to try it on.”

“And you made me miss the show?”

“Oh, you want a show?”

He ran his hand over her ass. “Always.”

“Okay. Change of plans then. Ditch the costumes, I’ll give you a show…then we can try out some of the accessories.”

“You really want me to ditch the costumes.” Dean sat up and frowned over the edge of the bed, trying to see what was so offensive. “The plug thing’s really that bad?”

“Yeah, Ducky, it really is.” Faith grinned. “And I really wanna see Nick force Ro to wear it. Only thing better than Sam being forced to humiliate himself is Nick being as dopey into Halloween as he is. And don’t get me wrong—the kid’ll pitch a fit but she’ll cave.”

“Will she?”

“Uh huh. ’Cause someone—that’s you, Ducky—is gonna remind her when she starts bitching and moaning that Nick hauled ass across the country, got beat up by her old man on more than one occasion, opened up a walking pun that has yet to turn a profit, and all he wants in return is for her to play along for a night. Need I go on?”

“You’re evil.”

“I prefer nasty.”

“Yeah, so do I.” Dean grabbed her by the back of the neck and dragged her to him for a kiss. “So I’ll go deliver these then and you and me will get nasty. You said you had accessories.”

“All kinds of toys.”

“You are the perfect woman.” He bounded to his feet, scooped the costumes off the ground and all but sprinted out the door.

*~*~*

The man was a physical work of art. She’d thought so from the moment she’d laid eyes on him and she hadn’t stopped thinking it. There was the six—or eight?—pack, his well-defined muscles, piercing blue eyes, the scruff that lined his jaw, and his dick. Had she mentioned his dick? Because it was also a work of art. And all that was before you got to the creamy center that was Daniel Ford. Smart, loyal, funny, fierce, courageous, and he performed fucking miracles on the battlefield. Oh, and totally, completely in love with her.

Yeah, Daniel Ford was the full package. And the package was…well, amazing.

Dawn released a trembling sigh, trailing her hand down the warm, brown skin of his chest. It was a habit she’d gotten into over the past few weeks ever since the first time Daniel had taken her to bed.

She’d been working a job in Miami. Nothing too exciting—a vengeful spirit. Dig up the bones, salt and burn them, the usual. The excitement had come in because she hadn’t been paying attention, too caught up in her head, thinking about Sam as was usual, to notice that a few graves over, a vamp had been rising. Dawn never went into cemeteries unprepared—you don’t grow up in the same house as Buffy the Vampire Slayer without packing the essentials. Stakes, holy water, crosses, the works. When she was on the hunt for something other than a vamp, part of her mind was always clued into the telltale signs that some fang-face was about to burst from their fresh grave.

That night, though, she’d been reliving that last conversation with Sam for the billionth time. And for the billionth time, wondering how she could’ve been such a naïve child. That she’d thought she had something with him—something real, something he valued. That she’d thought perhaps, just maybe, he loved her too. He’d certainly talked to her like he did.

Or maybe that much had been her fault. She’d projected a confidence around him that she hadn’t felt most of the time—a drive to be the best possible version of Dawn. Maybe the sort who was more aggressive and, well, aggressive. That might have convinced Sam she wasn’t as into the relationship as she had been. Perhaps she hadn’t been girly enough.

These were the sort of thoughts that would drive anyone crazy. And the sort of thoughts that had haunted her that night. So much so that she hadn’t realized there was a vamp nearby until Daniel had sprung from the shadows like a freaking ninja and staked the SOB in a glorious shower of dust.

Then they’d fought. Their only fight. About how she was a careless little girl who didn’t know the first thing about hunting, according to him, and how she didn’t need anyone protecting her ass, according to her, and no one asked him to intervene in the first place. They’d both been screaming so loudly that neither had heard the rustle of two additional graves being upended by the undead. And the next time, it had been Daniel dragged down by two hungry vamps as Dawn swore under her breath, withdrew her stakes and leaped into the fray like—well, not the Slayer, but the Slayer’s very capable and kick-assy little sister. What she lacked in physical strength she more than made up for in a series of fight moves she’d learned from watching Buffy mixed with those she’d molded herself after kickboxing and self-defense courses. By the end of the night, she’d been straddling a gaping Daniel, who agreed readily that Dawn was more than capable of taking care of herself.

They’d concluded the ghost hunt together. Then he’d asked her to help him come clear out a nest of vamps in South Carolina that he’d been tracking from Utah. Bad motherfuckers, he’d called them, but not so bad that the two of them couldn’t handle the gang together.

A week after that, panting and sweating, they’d fucked in a pile of vamp ash. Should not have done it for her, considering her family was comprised of vamps, but tell that to her libido. Then Daniel had dragged her back to his hotel room and done it all over again.

He was the perfect guy. Nice, uncomplicated, sexy as hell and, according to him, ass-over-head in love with her. The perfect guy, already in the life, who didn’t know anything about her history beyond she’d been a space cadet that first night because she was mulling over a bad breakup. They’d kept their physical distance until South Carolina as a result of that—Daniel didn’t want to be anyone rebound. Something about seeing her in action, though, had convinced him to take a chance.

Now he was in love with her and she…

Dawn blinked, dragging in a hard breath and rolling away from him. It said something about her, didn’t it, that she couldn’t orgasm with Mr. Perfect unless she closed her eyes and thought of Sam Winchester. That she often lay awake after they were done making love, clutching a pillow to her chest and trying not to hate herself too badly for taking advantage of a guy who genuinely loved her.

God, if she’d known he would do something as dumb as fall in love with her, she never would have let it get this far. She would have hit the road in Miami and never looked back.

What made it worse was Daniel’s zen-like acceptance of her headspace where everything was concerned. He knew she didn’t love him and said that was okay, he could wait. He knew she was still torn up about whatever had happened with her ex and said that was okay, he understood. He knew she cared for him and said that was enough for him. Yeah, he hadn’t meant to fall for a girl who was still hung up on someone else, but the heart wants what it wants, and as long as she let him stay in her life, at her side, that would be enough.

Dawn sometimes wondered if she could just will herself to love him. Stare at him long enough, at that perfect body of his, knowing what a good guy lived under his skin, and convince her stupid brain that Sam could, at most, only hope to be half the man Daniel Ford was. That she didn’t miss him, his stupid hair, his soulful eyes, or the way he said her name when they were together. That every morning when she woke up wrapped in a man’s arms, she didn’t sigh in relief until she realized those arms were the wrong color.

Daniel deserved so much better than her. So, so much better.

And maybe she would realize it when they went to Lebanon. Which was of course where they were going next, and by the time she’d realized it, it had been too late to pull the plug. For the last two weeks, they’d been trailing a group of vagrant demons across the Midwest—the sort that had the potential to destroy whole towns. At the last stop, they’d managed to get a destination out of the mouth of a demon right before they’d sliced it open. And of course it was the Hellmouth. Where else would a bunch of demons be headed?

Dawn had told Daniel they could just let the others handle it. The Hellmouth was well protected by not one, but two vampire slayers, plus some extremely capable demon hunters.

“They don’t know these demons the way we do, Dawnie. And do you really want to not do anything to help your friends?”

“You realize that one of those friends is the ex.”

Daniel had nodded, cupped her cheek and kissed her. “Not saying I wouldn’t mind kicking the ass of the guy who broke your heart,” he’d replied, “but I don’t think leaving him to die is the appropriate response, do you?”

“He’ll just come back,” she’d muttered, though her heart had stuttered just at the promise she might see Sam again. Which she knew was sign enough that she should stay as far from Lebanon as was humanly possible. Wanting to see Sam—moreover, wanting _Sam_ to see _her—_ was the worst of all bad ideas.

“Come on, Dawnie. You know you’d never forgive yourself if we heard something went wrong.”

And that was much was true. Though she very much doubted anything would happen.

There was a lot still Daniel didn’t know about her, too, that might change the way he looked at her once he met her friends. Things like the fact that Dawn was the Slayer’s sister. Like most hunters, Daniel was familiar with _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_ by reputation alone—this she’d learned almost immediately when she’d muttered that she’d learned how to move thanks to Buffy. He’d thought she was making a joke and, not wanting to have the conversation about Buffy, she’d let him believe it. She wasn’t sure if he believed that vampire slayers were a thing at all—she’d told him she knew slayers personally, but he’d seemed to think this was funny.

Actually, that was another reason Daniel was insistent on heading to Lebanon. He wanted to go to Lebanon to see these _slayers_ in action.

There was a lot more he could learn, too. Like about the fact that she wasn’t entirely human, herself. Oh, and that Buffy the Vampire Slayer was not only real, but her sister, and a vampire to boot. That she was mated to one of the most notorious vampires in the world and if anyone ever tried to hurt Buffy or Spike, Dawn would put them in the ground, human or not.

Daniel wouldn’t be meeting Buffy in Lebanon unless her sister got home from sabbatical between now and tomorrow evening, but everything else? Yeah, he’d learn right quick.

One way or another, everything was about to come to a head.


	2. Chapter 2

“What the fuck?” Wright growled as three little monsters charged him the second he walked into the Hyperion, all brandishing sets of fangs.

“We want to thuck your blood,” Rosie said with a thick lisp as Will and Kelly each lunged forward and bit his legs.

“No!” he barked as he wiggled back. He pointed his finger at his daughter. “No thucking blood and no biting!”

“They wanted to be vampires for Halloween,” Cordelia said as she walked up. “I gave Kelly the choice of Elsa and she said she wanted to be a vamp.”

Wright gave her a dark look. “I thought we agreed there’d be no Halloween in this house.”

Cordy rolled her eyes. “You said it and I went along while I was step-moming it, but Kelly is gonna do the trick or treat thing.”

“Nope.” Wright knew he was overprotective, but with his girls he didn’t give a fuck. “There’s too many weirdos, not even going into the monsters that will be out cruising for easy targets.”

“Zack and Kelly are taking them over to Bayside to hit up the nicer neighborhoods. You’re officially outta arguments, hot stuff.”

“Nice try, but—” He was cut off as his wife came up and pressed herself up against him.

Tilting her head to whisper against his ear, she spoke. “I bought myself a costume that you’re gonna want an empty house for. Trust me when I say you won’t be able to keep it quiet.”

A thousand possibilities crossed his mind, all naughtier than the one before. Truth of the matter was he and Cordy hadn’t gotten freaky in the bedroom since before Kelly—maybe since making Kelly. Sex was good however you had it, but a night of wild passion sounded…”You suck,” he hissed as he felt his resolve fading.

“I will, Zack.” She nipped his ear lobe.

The only thing keeping him from grabbing her and tossing her down for a quickie was the fact that three little kids were playfully running about. “Zack and Kelly,” he growled. “Bayside and nice neighborhoods. Home before ten.”

She pulled back to flash him a cocky smirk. “Ten? Really?”

“M-midnight,” he faltered as more potential costumes entered his mind.

“Glad we had this talk,” Cordy said smugly before turning away.

“Wait,” he said as he grabbed her arm and pulled her back. “You never hinted on the costume.”

“I know.” She pulled free and sashayed away.

Wright slipped off to his office for a drink.

*~*~*

Sam had worked hard to keep his questions about Dawn as nonchalant and casual as possible whenever he emailed Buffy or asked Giles if he’d heard from either of his girls. While he told everyone his only concern was because she was part of the group and the Key, he knew it was bullshit.

Every single day over the past six months he regretted breaking up with her. What had seemed like the best idea in his blood-lustful mind at the time now felt like the biggest mistake he’d ever made. Dawn had gotten him on a level no other woman had—something he hadn’t really appreciated until it was gone.

Looking at Dean and Faith really just made it worse. What his brother had with his girlfriend was exactly the kind of relationship Sam had always craved—an open and deep connection with a seemingly complete trust and love. The fact that Dean—a lifelong whoremonger—got there before him made him secretly sick with jealousy.

“Knock, knock,” called a familiar chirp in his open bedroom doorway. Not bothering to look up from his laptop, he heard his slayer walk on in. “Guess what arrived?”

“Oh god,” he groaned as he squeezed his eyes shut. He was so dreading this.

Rosalie emitted an evil cackle. “Think you better try it on. Wanna make sure it fits before the party.”

Sam slowly turned around and gave her a death glare. “I’m sure it fits.”

“We better make sure.” She looked so wickedly pleased that Sam wanted to kick her.

As she started opening the box, Sam’s life got worse as Dean popped his head in the doorway. “Awesome. Was looking for Ro. What’s up?”

Rosalie briefly flashed a grin toward the eldest Winchester. “Sam’s costume arrived.”

Dean released a barking laugh that made Sam want to also kick him. He clutched something to his chest and doubled over in hysterics. “Please,” he wheezed through laughter. “Tell me it’s Tinky Winky.”

“It is!” Rose giggled uncontrollably. “It was this or Big Bird and that one was a fucking fortune.”

Dean wiped his eyes as he looked to his little brother. “I’m sorry.” He snickered. “No, I’m not.” Still chuckling, he tossed a couple of items down on the bed. “Compliments of Faith and me to the younger slayer couple.”

Sam tried to hide his jealousy with general discontent. “More stupid costumes?”

“Stupid?” Dean huffed mockingly. “How dare you, sir.”

Rosalie broke from the box to examine Dean’s gift. “An outlet and a plug?”

“Cause he sticks it in ya,” Dean said entirely too impressed with himself. “Get it?”

The only satisfaction Sam experienced was watching Rose’s face turn into a scowl. “Gross. No.”

Dean looked momentarily disappointed before his eyes regained their mischief. “Surely you don’t want to disappoint Nick. That guy who gave up his life and career to be with you.”

“Low blow,” Rose pouted.

Dean smirked and continued. “The guy who moved across the pond and then across the country only for you. Who gave up everything to open a business just for you. A business that hasn’t even broke even yet and has him in debt to a big green demon and—”

“Shut up, Dean,” Rose snapped. “I’ll wear it.”

“Let me guess,” Sam grumbled. “You and Faith have a couples’ costume too?”

Dean shrugged a shoulder. “Not so much. She went solo this year, but I already got ideas for next year.” He turned to Rosalie. “I’m thinking Wonder Woman and Batman. Or something like sexy nurse and Dr. Sexy.”

Rose snorted and rolled her eyes. “What about this year?”

“Well…” Dean got a disturbing gleam in his eyes. “I bought something a while back I was saving for our anniversary, but I think I’m gonna go ahead and pull it out.”

The thought that Dean had a costume for the bedroom was a level of disturbing Sam had never wanted to know. “You’ve officially crossed a line I didn’t even know existed.”

“Is it wrong I’m super curious?” Rose asked.

“Yes,” Sam said emphatically.

“Don’t judge, Tinky Winky,” Dean teased. He gave Rosalie a wink and sauntered away.

“So,” Rose said as she turned back to Sam. “Ready to try it on?”

“Go away,” he demanded. He was gonna wear it for the party, but not a moment before.

Sam contemplated whether it wrong to wish an apocalypse would start. For the first time in months, he was glad Dawnie wasn’t around. This was shaping up to be a low point in his life.

*~*~*

Sabrina had learned several things during the last few months of living among NoMajes, but the most ridiculous was the intensity they took Halloween. She’d heard tales of children dressing up as witches and ghosts to parade for candy, but she never imagined adults putting on absurd costumes and running around in public.

Scratch that—she never expected her _brothers_ to participate in the odd tradition. Granted, Sam looked less than thrilled as he waddled in from the back of the bar where he’d placed on a giant purple monstrosity. “Is he that dinosaur from the children’s show?”

Castiel looked up from the book he’d been studying. While everyone else seemed inclined to drink the night away in ridiculously get-ups, she and Castiel had insisted on only intending if they were allowed to continue their search for a means of breaking the enchantment surrounding the vampire’s soul they’d found months ago. Everyone from Hogwarts to Willow Rosenberg had been looking into it, but so far the King of Hell had shown a formidable magical proponent with the dark forces encasing the soul. Castiel had just returned from locating a fresh set of texts from ancient Sumeria that may be helpful.

“I believe I heard he is a Teletubby,” the angel declared from his seat next to her at the bar. She wasn’t sure if she was more amused by hearing him say “Teletubby” or the fact that he was wearing a halo of plastic and feathers atop his head.

Granted, she knew she looked similarly stupid in the pointy black witch’s hat that Dean had insisted was mandatory when he’d talked to her earlier. Six months wasn’t enough time to begin to understand her eldest brother.

She was still studying Sam as he awkwardly walked from behind the bar when a terrified scream drew her attention across the room. Nick dropped a tray of glasses to the floor with a shatter. “ _Bloody hell!_ ” he cried.

“What?” Rosalie said as she bounded over to him with concern. Well, as fast as one could move dressed as a giant electrical outlet.

Nick looked almost comical as his plug prongs shook. “ _Why,_ Rose, _why_?” He gestured inarticulately toward Sam.

Rosalie looked as confused as Sabrina. “Remember when I asked you what was the worst thing you could think of?” the blonde questioned. “You specifically told me Tinky Winky.”

His eyes went wide as he looked back and forth from Sam to his girlfriend. “Oh.”

Sabrina has to ask. “Is Tinky Winky a scary thing?”

Castiel shook his head. “From my research of the Internet Movie Database, it is a character from a once-popular children’s program on public television.”

Rosalie must’ve heard them because the next thing she did was loudly ask, “Nick, are you afraid of Tinky Winky?”

“ _No!_ ” he cried in pure denial.

The front door opened and Faith walked in, effectively stealing the show. Sabrina felt her jaw slacken as she took in the woman decked out in a leather bodysuit that showed every single curve of the woman’s body. She considered herself a straight girl, but for a second she entertained the fact she’d totally hook up with her boyfriend’s ex under the right amount of wine consumption.

“Faith!” Sabrina’s boyfriend gasped from his post behind the bar. “My god, did you come as a dominatrix?”

“You wish,” she teased as she sashayed over and gestured for a drink. She slapped the whip she had been carrying down on the bar before pointing at her head. “Catwoman.”

“Damn,” Rosalie said as she appeared to forget the hilarity of her boyfriend’s fear and came over to give the other slayer a playful smack on the ass. “Surprised Dean isn’t here trying to cover you with a white sheet.”

Wesley looked around the room before focusing back on Faith. “He certainly didn’t approve of your costume.”

The raven beauty snorted. “Nobody—and I mean _nobody_ —gives me approval.” Then she turned to Rosalie. “But he definitely showed his approval.” She added an unnecessary wink.

“Where is he?” Sam spoke. “The sooner he shows up and has his fill, the sooner I can take this fucking thing off.”

Faith had apparently missed the giant purple “elephant” in the room because when she caught sight of the younger Winchester brother she doubled over into a full hysterical breakdown. Bracing herself against the bar, she laughed until she was out of breath and then took a few panting breaths before starting again.

“I hate you,” Sam said to her in a low grumble that was impossible to take seriously under current conditions. He turned to stomp away but stumbled slightly as he hit a table and waddled off toward the back corner.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Faith wheezed. “I think I’m gonna die.” She clutched her side as she chuckled. “I gotta cramp.”

“I think Nick’s afraid of Teletubbies,” Rosalie giggled softly as the man seemed to sprint the opposite direction of Sam.

Faith held up a hand. “Stop,” she warned as she gasped. “You gotta give me a chance to survive the night. Any more of this shit and I’m gonna pass out.” Her face grew serious. “One of you’s gotta phone, right? I couldn’t fit one in the suit, but somebody’s gotta have a camera.”

Sabrina had missed Dean’s entrance into the bar until he leaned over from behind Faith and placed his phone on the bar in front of her. “At your rescue, ma’am.”

When Faith twisted around Sabrina caught sight of the costume her brother had chosen. Shirtless, he was sporting suspenders holding up a pair of rubber pants completed with a red plastic fireman’s hat. Indeed, Dean had also seemed to want to take the racy route of his girlfriend. “Hi,” the slayer said somewhat uncharacteristically quiet.

“Hi,” Dean said back in kind.

Judging from the look they were sharing, she expected they’d both disappear to the back in less than five minutes. “I believe I found an interesting potential cipher,” Castiel said pulling Sabrina from her gawking.

“Cool.” And much like she’d learned over the past few months, she tuned out the antics of her family and friends and got back to work.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean didn’t rush out from the stock room because he felt some chauvinistic drive to protect his ladylove from danger. The only thing he knew more than he loved her unconditionally was the fact that she was the definite ass-kicker of their couple. Maybe a younger Dean would have felt intimidated or emasculated, but after spending close to forty years hunting, he was just relieved and grateful. Dating a slayer had way more benefits than just the sexcapades.

Dean rushed from the stock room because he had spent close to forty years hunting and he knew you never played half-ass at ganking monsters. He’d watched good guys go down because they got cocky and thought the job was beneath them. And though he knew his Kitty wasn’t about to do it—trash talk and bravado aside—it was just hunter’s rules that all hands got on deck in a fight.

Unless she called dibs. Faith had a fucking annoying habit of doing that when they were working a case together. He _might_ have accidentally grazed her with a silver bullet on one of their first jobs after shit settled a few months back. Then he’d accepted she was generally gonna beat him to the punch when she called it.

He was a little pissed at how right she was about how unprepared he was to fight anything at the moment. He’d been too caught up in Halloween and the thrill of some kinky hose play that he’d forgotten simple things—like the gun that was currently sitting in the passenger seat of Baby. He scrambled to dig the Impala keys out of his sock.

Dean almost chuckled as he stood up afterward to see Cass and Sabrina marching out the front door with wand and angel blade hoisted as they wore their costume hats. It was like the start to the perfect buddy cop movie. Then Tinky Winky came into sight and Dean barked a laugh. “Fuck me, I almost forgot.”

“Shut up!” Sam spat. “What do you have on you?”

Dean raised his hand and jingled the keys. “These and a hat that ain’t OSHA approved to take a hit.” He eyed his brother up and down. “Any chance Teletubbies keep a blade up in their bellies?”

Sam glowered at him. “I’m literally a giant purple mass of foam right now.”

“Well, come be a _distracting_ giant purple mass of foam. The car’s right out front.”

Immediately, Dean surveyed once stepping outside that they were in for more of a challenge than first estimated. This didn’t seem to be the usual demon brawl that broke out with a few rowdy or mischievous monsters looking to tussle with a slayer or cause some general mayhem. There were at least two carloads of sons of bitches with a third squealing into the lot. Seemed the Evil League of Evil has decided to have their Kansas convention tonight. “Fucking figures,” Dean grumbled.

Sam had to turn his giant purple head to glance at him. “There’s more getting out of that Ranger that pulled in.”

“I know,” Dean sulked. “I’m gonna need a straight shot unless I take my pants off.”

“I had to get helped into this thing!” Sam growled.

Dean looked up just as a black mass sailed across the air, blade in one hand and whip in the other. “God, I’m so turned on right now,” he muttered.

“Dude—”

“Cover me!” he demanded as he made his break for the car.

He was embarrassed at how much the giant rubber pants slowed him down. Obviously firemen were more concerned with fire than outrunning monsters, but Dean thought there had to be a middle ground. As luck would have it, he didn’t escape notice and what he quickly surveyed to be a vampire came charging at him with fangs out and looking for blood. He’d just made it to Baby when the bastard got to him and slammed him up against the trunk.

Dean was an industrious fucker and made use of the keys in his hands to add some power to his punches. Years of hunting and months of dating the best damn vampire slayer had him with enough moves to knock the bastard around to an advantage point where he killed him by repeatedly smashing his skull in on edge of the trunk lid. He’d have to worry about the damage to his Baby later.

A bit winded and a bit scratched up, he finally got a break to open the trunk and access his arsenal. First things first, he grabbed a couple of pistols and a box of silver bullets. Then he turned back and looked toward Sam and his heart sank.

While everything had been going on with him and his brief vamp foe, a couple of baddies had caught sight of the giant purple mass of foam and made a move. Sam was on the ground and alive according to the wiggling arms and legs Dean could see flailing about. That said, one seemed be attempting to rip the foam away while the other had straddled Sam and was trying to rip his head off.

Shaking, Dean scrambled to load the gun. Rushing forward as he stuffed bullets into the chamber, he missed a giant ass demon that tackled him from the side. Truthfully, he wasn’t even sure what the motherfucker was, which had become par for the course with Hellmouth demons. All Dean knew was as the ginormous set of yellowed sharp teeth came closer to his throat he was very disappointed in what was shaping up to be his likely cause of death. He still had shit he’d wanted to do—like break back into that bowling alley he’d and Fay had been banned from or beat Nick and Giles at Risk or maybe marry his soulmate. “I have plans dammit!” he shouted as he struggled.

He saw the black leather wind around the monster’s neck but didn’t believe his luck until the weight lifted off him as the beast went flailing backward. Before he could rise, there was a flash of movement and then he saw the blade of a knife slice the demon’s throat open with a force that nearly decapitated it.

“I fucking told you to stay inside,” his savior snapped.

“Sam,” he gasped as he ignored her smack-talk.

Faith whirled around to find him just before a fury of bullets hit the air. Not knowing where and who the firing was coming from sent her to the ground and Dean instinctively dove to cover her. All he knew was if these fuckers were itching to take down a slayer, they were first taking out a Winchester.

He clutched her a couple of seconds after the gunfire ceased until Faith softly whispered in his ear. “Ducky?”

He released a breath and unclenched his muscles. “I’m good,” he assured her and then rolled off so she could spring up. Scrambling to his feet, he stood beside Faith and assessed the situation.

Upon first glance, he saw Sabrina and Cass looking worn and torn but generally okay. The horizon showed no more monsters and Nick and Wes were outside the bar with an assortment of patrons. Dean’s eyes quickly went to where he’d last spotted Sam to see him still on the ground with an unknown someone or something hunched beside him. “Hey!” Dean shouted as he stormed forward.

A black man with a gun stood and whirled around to aim his weapon at Dean’s chest. “Stand back,” he said with an almost calm sense of dominance. “Show me your teeth or I shoot.”

Whoever the fuck this dude was, he wasn’t smart to stand between Dean and his Sammy. “Get the fuck away from my brother or I kill you.”

The cocky bastard sneered in response. “I’d like to see you try.”

“Let me rephrase,” Faith said as she slid forward and pressed her hip to Dean’s side. “Get the fuck away from his brother or _I will_ kill you.”

It was Dean’s turn to sneer. “You came to see a slayer? Watch her slay.”

Normally this just served to further antagonize whatever sorry shit decided to take Faith on in a head-to-head, but this wasn’t the case. The guy blinked and slowly dropped his weapon. “Wait…are you Faith or Rose?”

“Huh?” Dean and Faith said in perfect unison as they instantly lost the usual cadence to how these encounters typically went.

“Oh god,” Rosalie groaned as she walked up from behind. “Do we have another groupie?”

“He’s not a groupie, Rose. He’s with me.”

Dean turned in shock as he immediately recognized the voice. “Son of a bitch.”

*~*~*

It had been next to impossible to follow everything from his position on the ground trapped in a prison of foam. After the shots had taken care of the monsters that had been attacking him, Sam had scrambled to get up much like a turtle trapped on his back. That had been when the mysterious man had shown up and began to offer him help.

Then things became confusing as it sounded like Dean and Faith had come up to investigate the mysterious knight who’d come up to rescue poor Tinky Winky. Sam was also slightly unnerved to find some random hunter had wandered up to the bar with apparently impeccable timing.

“He’s not a groupie, Rose, he’s with me.”

Sam didn’t need to see her face to recognize that voice with unwavering certainty.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean muttered.

“Hi, Dean,” she said with her perfect sarcastic charm. “Nice suspenders, by the way. Are you the Gordon’s fisherman?”

“Firefighter,” he spat defensively. “My hat is…somewhere.”

“Hold on,” the mysterious man said. “So you are legitimately a vampire slayer?”

Sam assumed this was directed at one or both of the girls.

“Well, currently I’m Catwoman, but yeah.”

Sam took the opportunity to try and get up under the current distraction. The last thing in the world he wanted right now was to be sprawled out on the ground in a fucking Tinky Winky costume. As his luck would have it, his life was destined to be a tragic comedy.

“Sam?”

He looked up in horror as she stood over him with an unreadable mask of emotion across her face. “Dawnie,” he sighed, both incredibly happy and totally mortified to look at those radiant eyes he’d been missing for months.

“Sam?” The stranger came into view as he stepped over and peered down at him. “ _This_ is Sam?”

Dawn tore her gaze from him to look at the mystery man. “Uhh…he doesn’t normally look like this.” She paused. “Well, he didn’t before.”

“Right.” The guy favored Dawn with a smile that Sam immediately didn’t like before turning to nod and smile at him. “Halloween. Totally get it, man.” Then he offered a hand. “Nice costume.”

The last straw of humiliation was being helped up by a guy who looked like he’d never be caught dead in a Teletubby costume. A guy who looked entirely too good looking to be hanging around Dawnie and flashing her with warm smiles. Fumbling to his feet, Sam wondered if he’d ever find the remains of his dignity. “Thanks,” he muttered.

Rosalie was the first to come rushing forward to embrace Dawn in a hug with Nick following in her wake. The latter eyed Sam with a look of trepidation before taking a noticeable step back. “You have _so_ much explaining to do and I want every single detail,” the youngest slayer declared.

Dawn eyed her up and down. “Was there a tacky costume contest because I swear you look like an electrical outlet.”

Rose rolled her eyes and smiled. “Long story with a bet that ended with Sammy as Tinky Winky.” She winked. “You’re welcome.”

Dawn laughed somewhat awkwardly and cast him a quick blushing glance. “Sounds fun.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Dean said dismissively. “Tinky Winky and all the hilarity. But what are y’all doing here now?”

“We caught wind of a group of demons we’ve been chasing heading here tonight,” explained the new guy. “While Dawn was sure you guys had it covered, we wanted to come on if they decided to join up with another group—which they did. Looks like they were mostly taken out, but I saw a few scatter and escape.”

“Uh huh,” Faith said with a nod at him before turning to Dawn. “Who’s this guy? You gotta new boyfriend or what?”

Bless her and damn her for being right to the point. Sam had genuinely grown to love Faith as the sister-in-law she practically already was, but he honestly didn’t want to talk about Dawn’s current relationship status.

Dawn turned her back to him as she spoke. “Well, everybody, this is Daniel.” There was a pause and Sam held his breath. “My boyfriend.”

A tightness filled his chest as a sharp pain entered his gut. He couldn’t remember when mere words had hurt so much before. There was no real way to subtlety acknowledge the fact that the woman he’d grown to realize he’d loved—the woman he’d stupidly pushed away in a moment of drug-addicted weakness—had moved on and found herself someone else. Someone else that Sam quickly surmised was likely a better man and a skilled hunter.

A man he instantly hated.

He quietly turned and made way back inside the bar and straight to the backroom office where he’d changed into the fucking foam monstrosity in which he was currently trapped. He ripped off the head of his costume and threw it with all his might. The stupid fucking thing silently hit the wall without an ounce of satisfaction.

The door shut behind him and he didn’t bother turning around. “Don’t,” he warned.

He felt hands on him as Velcro ripped at his back. “So, we kill him or what?”

He couldn’t even muster a fake laugh. “I fucked up, Dean.”

“Yeah, Faith admitted she let Ro beat her on that obstacle course. You shoulda made a bet with her too if you wanted her to give it her full mojo. She’s a sneaky bitch.”

Taking a shaky breath, he fought back the tears stinging his eyes. “Dean.”

“I know,” he said softly as he yanked the foam down. “But we know what you did and why you did it and there ain’t no goin’ back. You been clean six months now and she ain’t no reason for a relapse.”

Sam swallowed and cleared his throat. “I’m not.”

“Good.” Then his brother wordlessly continued helping him remove his costume.

“Dean,” he said at long last as he stepped free from the foam and turned to face him. “I…I think I…I realized too late that I…”

His brother nodded and looked down and kicked the costume away. “I know, but there’s nothing we can do now.” He paused and looked up with him with a pure Dean smile. “Unless we kill him.”

Every time in his life when he thought he’d reached his darkest low, his big brother had been there to help him through. From the first time he’d died and Dean making the crossroads deal to bring him back to coming to Stoll Cemetery to help him take Lucifer to the cage to helping him rip off the humiliating Tinky Winky costume he wore when he’d faced his ex-girlfriend, Dean was always there looking out for him.

In a moment of overwhelming emotion, Sam reached out and grasped Dean in a tight embrace. As his brother returned the gesture, Sam couldn’t help but lose the fight with the tears in his eyes.

“Is that a yes or a no on the killing?” Dean hoarsely whispered. “Cause I got the slayer least likely to kick my ass.”

Sam released a watery snicker as he pulled back and quickly wiped his eyes. “Still think she’s boarded the anti-murder bus.”

Dean shrugged as he nonchalantly rubbed his own glassy eyes. “Yeah, but she still _gets_ it. Besides, we can make it look like an accident.”

Sam noted a sizable gash on Dean’s bare shoulder. “You should get Cass or Brina to patch you up.”

Dean looked at the wound and winced. “See, now Tinky Winky doesn’t look like the worst choice.”

“Shut up.” But Sam couldn’t help but smile a little.

“Let’s prop that thing up in Nicky’s chair. Ten bucks says if we turn out the lights he’ll piss himself.”

“You’re a jerk,” he muttered as he went to pull his shoes on. Granted, he didn’t bother stopping him because he needed a fucking laugh.

*~*~*

Willow sauntered into the ballroom of the party with a confidence she was totally faking. She was so nervous that her cheeks were on fire and the mask was her current favorite part of the costume. As much as she longed to tell the world she was engaged to Sam Seaborn, key moments where she dabbled near the water Sam swam in reminded her she didn’t know how to swim in the political ocean.

Sam had done his fair share of work convincing her she could survive—another testament to how good he was at his job. He’d explained that the entirety of human experience was built on politics—from family dynamics to school friends and social groups to existence in the workplace. Everything came down to a strategy to get to your desired position in life. And while it made sense on paper, handling who you sat with at lunch didn’t quite compare to interacting with voters, lobbyists, donors and the very people that decided what bills became law.

Magic was so much easier. She’d fought hard on that point but inevitably lost when Sam countered that the world’s greatest achievements hadn’t come from an individual but from groups of people who set out to change the world. All he wanted to do was try to work toward making America and its citizens inspired to form a more perfect Union and a union with the world.

Yeah, some chicks dug a bad boy, but Willow got off on good people who fought to right the wrongs they saw. Tara had a pure heart and soul and so did Sam. She tried to tell herself she did too, but she’d made some serious mistakes in her execution.

She nearly tripped to keep from bumping into a couple as they strolled across her path and quietly whimpered when she realized it was George Clooney. While Sam and Donna had given her a little forewarning that the campaign was drawing a considerable celebrity following due to California being the home of Hollywood, a little girl from Sunnydale couldn’t help being star struck. It didn’t matter if she was possibly the most powerful witch in the world—that dude had played Batman.

It was a sizable crowd, but Sam was pretty easy to pick out due to the number of people that lingered in his general vicinity. He’d warned that the worst part of these events would be the way he was expected to talk to everyone. People had paid thousands for a chance to bounce an idea or share a moment with the next potential president. And while she knew he’d crash like a corpse when it came time for bed, currently he looked like he was enjoying every hand he shook and every word he heard.

It was a risky move, but she was drawn to him like a magnet. Carefully, she navigated her way through the crowd in a way she hoped didn’t draw unwanted attention. Luckily most of the others were more focused on finding their own way to catch Sam’s eye than any competition. A wave of relief mixed with that now-familiar rush of love hit her when the governor glanced her way in the midst of his current conversation and his eyes lit up in recognition. He turned back to whoever was talking with a small smile she knew was meant for her.

Toby and Josh had given her countless lectures on not approaching Sam tonight. There were too many people milling about to make a meeting look natural. This was partly to do with her and Sam’s definite lack of acting chops—they ending up breaking into giggles or moon eyes every time they had tried to role-play a scenario. Still, she thought the nerves would work in her favor tonight because she was too terrified to laugh. She just wanted a chance to say hello before she backed off and hid in the shadows the rest of the night.

She felt like the Crocodile Hunter as she stalked the scene and evaluated her course of action. One dude left as another came forward and Sam was left entertaining two men who seemed very focused on conveying something. Maybe they wouldn’t pay much mind if she made a weak attempt to accidentally brush by the governor—if he didn’t have the cape on she might’ve been tempted to grab his unbelievably tight little ass. She doubted most would imagine that he was fucking ripped from all the exercise he did for stress relief. Granted, the last few months they had changed his cardio schedule to a little kinkier routine.

Pushing her sexy thoughts out as best she could, she took a deep breath and made her move forward. She’d graze shoulders as she walked pass and maybe he’d turn and they could share a quick little eye moment or pleasantry before she strolled off and began to drink all the drinks at the bar. It seemed simple and foolproof.

Until Ellen Degeneres scampered up to Sam and casually slapped him on the back in a quick greeting. Her shock and awe at watching fucking Ellen come up and acknowledge her fiancé like some kind of friend distracted her walking and instead of focusing on her actions, she focused on Ellen and what she thought she heard was an invite to her show to bring Oz. Momentarily succumb with Ellen Blindness, instead of lightly brushing Sam, she tripped on his cape and yelped as she grasped his shoulder to keep from falling to the ground.

Instincts outweighed propriety for him as well as he whirled around in perfect Phantom fashion and wrapped his arms around her waist as her balance faltered. Indeed, both gasping as they stared at one another in a pause after the fact, he was holding her like they were posing for a romance novel cover. “Crikey,” she muttered as she realized Steve Irwin would be so disappointed in her.

Sam flashed a beaming smile that would have warmed even Hitler’s heart. Willow couldn’t help but melt as she took in his piercing blue eyes and the dashing costume he wore. “You okay?” he asked quietly as he helped her upright.

“I…” She determined that honesty was her best option. “I love Ellen.”

Her mortification was only slightly lessened by the low chuckle Sam gave as he lightly brushed his fingers across her back. “Don’t we all?”

She eyed the woman in question. “Your wife is gorgeous.”

Sam laughed outright now and Willow was ready to crawl under a rock and hide for the rest of the night. Miss Ellen for her part took it as the compliment she intended. “She’s the hottest,” she agreed. “And you should see her dress tonight. It’s smoking.” She winked at Willow and looked to Sam. “I mean it, Mr. Governor, please have your people get in touch. I’d love to have both you and your son on the show.”

Willow wanted to accept the invitation on the spot but knew she couldn’t. Maybe she could take some Polyjuice and go to the Ellen Show. As Ellen said her goodbyes and sauntered off to socialize, Willow contemplated her options.

“Mr. Governor,” a familiar voice said as he walked over. “The Bartlets have just arrived.”

“Right,” Sam said with a nod to Josh. “Excuse me, but I have to go say hello.” He gestured to each person but saved his last and longest glance for Willow. She was beginning to get more horny than terrified as they kept playing secret lovers in a crowd full of people.

As Sam walked away and the group began to scatter, Josh gently grasped her elbow. “You’re insane,” he whispered.

“It was an accident,” Willow pouted.

“Oz was an accident,” Josh retorted. “You two in public together are a train wreck.”

A familiar and welcome voice came up behind them. “Well, in that case, get yourself prepared because I just arrived with an atomic bomb.”

Ginny Potter snickered at her husband as Willow and Josh turned to greet them. “I am pretty certain being called ‘the bomb’ is a compliment in this country.”

“Unless you detonate,” Josh warned lowly. “In that case, I’m triggering World War III with the assassination of two British diplomats.”

Harry merely chuckled in response. “Get me a few stiff drinks and I’ll even give you my wand to try.”

Willow’s heart lightened as she turned to Ginny. “Can you get Harry sloshed on a work night? Ron and I never stood a chance.”

Ginny winked. “Where there’s a will, there’s a way.” She cast her husband a wicked smirk. “And gin. Lotsa gin.”

A masquerade ball, Harry and Ginny Potter, Ellen, George Clooney, Sam and gin—Willow knew it was gonna be a helluva party. She just hoped Sam would still be a candidate for president or governor in the morning. She was relatively sure Josh couldn’t kill Harry even if he did get drunk.


	4. Chapter 4

Faith wasn’t sure what her role was in this play, so she opted to go for super casual. While she and Sam had gotten close over the past few months, she definitely wasn’t the shoulder he’d want to cry on, and she’d feel damn awkward even offering. So instead, she grabbed a bottle of Grey Goose from behind the bar, a selection of shot glasses, and sauntered over to the booth where Dawn and her boy had parked their asses.

“So how’d this happen?” she asked, flinging herself into the seat across from them.

“Like Daniel said,” Dawn replied in a tone that plainly said she was trying to maintain her cool, “we were trailing this gang of demons and learned they were looking to make this place their playground for Halloween.”

“Uh huh.” Faith poured a round of shots. “And you thought we couldn’t handle it?”

“No, she was actually adamant that you could,” Daniel said. “Believe I said as much, too.”

“Wasn’t talking to her, Junior.” Faith winked and tossed back a mouthful, then quickly refilled the shot. “You’re doing B’s kid sis and you seriously didn’t think that Ro and me had things under control?”

“And here I could have sworn you didn’t,” Daniel said, cool as a cucumber. “Dawn talks about her ex and his brother like they’re some monster-fighting dream team, but neither one of them looked up to the challenge tonight.”

Though that happened to be perfectly true, Faith couldn’t help but be annoyed. This magazine-looking motherfucker showed up out of literally nowhere and was talking smack about Ducky? He was liable to find out just how hard a slayer punched if he continued down that line.

“My dude, just a few months ago, the literal devil was trying to get in my pants,” she drawled instead. “What happened out there was a Tuesday.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Dawn replied sharply. “And you know it. You don’t need to make with the attitude because of Sam.”

How in the world had she managed to forget what a ballsy little thing the youngest Summers was? Faith snorted. “And you mighta dropped us a line to give us a head’s up,” she retorted, her eyebrows winging upward. “You know that many demons are headin’ our way and you decide to make with the theatrics rather than make sure we had our A-game on?”

At this, Dawn flushed. “I didn’t think Sam and Dean would be that underprepared.”

“Or that maybe Brina coulda put up a few of her wards to keep it from getting that ugly?”

“Who’s Brina?” Daniel asked in a stage-whisper.

“The Winchesters’ kid sis,” Faith replied. “Just happens to be a mega-powerful witch.”

“Thank you, Faith,” Sabrina said, sliding into the seat beside her with a shot glass of her own. “And yes, I must agree. A head’s up would have been very nice. I only have the one wand, after all.”

Daniel blinked. “You…carry a wand?”

“Well, yes. I am a traditional witch.”

“The traditional witches I’ve encountered don’t use wands. Think that’s kid stuff, like _Harry Potter_.”

Faith arched an eyebrow, met Sabrina’s surprised stare, then turned to Dawn for an explanation.

Dawn had the decency to wiggle, at least. “I might have left a few things out,” she said. “He didn’t believe me about slayers so it seemed safe to assume he wouldn’t believe me about that, either.”

Daniel frowned and covered her hand with his in a gesture that was overly familiar. “Believe you about what?”

“Like the fact that she knows Harry Potter, would be my guess,” Faith drawled.

The frown tugged into a grin. “That’s nothing to be ashamed of, Dawnie. It’s a popular series.”

“Not what she means,” Sabrina replied, nodding at Faith. “Dawn _knows_ Harry Potter and his wife, Ginny. They and Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger-Weasley were here not that long ago, helping us fight the devil and attempt to locate a rogue witch.”

Daniel just blinked, the look on his face torn between utter bewilderment and irritation, like they were trying to pull one over on him. “Harry…Potter. Buffy the Vampire Slayer is a thing and so is Harry Potter.”

“B’s more than just a thing, sweet-cheeks,” Faith drawled, catching on at once. “She’s your girlfriend’s big sis.”

Dawn released a pitiful little mewl, dropping her head into her hands. “Could you have, you know, _not,_ Faith?”

Perhaps if Dawn had had the foresight to give them a head’s up about the party-crashing demons, Faith might have felt a bit bad for spilling the beans. As it was, though, she was just annoyed. “What? He’s your boy. If you’re sticking around here, kid, it was only a matter of time before your famous sister got mentioned.”

Daniel was staring at Dawn with an unreadable expression. “Is this true?” he asked. “Is Buffy… _that_ Buffy…really your sister?”

Dawn was white-knuckling the table, looking very much like she’d like nothing more than to leap across it and sock Faith in the chin. “Yes,” she answered through gritted teeth. “Buffy is…my sister.” She shot him a defiant look. “That’s how I know how to kill vampires. How I know Halloween is _typically_ not that exciting. I grew up with a vampire slayer.”

Oh, this was fun. And if he didn’t know _that_ , odds were he didn’t know the other thing too.

“Did you, Dawn?” Faith asked, furrowing her brow. “Did you _grow up_ with a vampire slayer?”

“Don’t,” the girl barked.

“Don’t what? Ask a simple question? Don’t see what’s so threatening about that.”

Maybe it was petty—actually, it was petty as fuck—but Faith couldn’t help herself. Yes, she knew Dawn was essentially blameless in what had gone down with Sam, that the big idiot had made a mountain of a mistake, but that didn’t change the fact that Dawn had rolled into town without so much as a phone call. Not that Faith didn’t understand or appreciate exactly what her end-game had to have been—to catch Sam unawares and rub in just how _over him_ she was by parading around her new stud. It was something Faith herself might have done if things had gone south with Dean in a permanent way, but she’d like to think she’d have enough sense about her to let people know that demons were planning to fuck shit up.

“Dawnie…” Daniel favored Dawn with a somewhat hurt look. “What is she talking about?”

Dawn kept her glare fixed on Faith. “There are things I haven’t told you yet,” she replied. “Things that are hard to explain.”

Daniel was quiet for a long beat, and Faith was certain that when he started speaking again, it would be to read Dawn the riot act for holding out on him. But that wasn’t what happened. Instead, a soft, almost nauseatingly sweet smile spread across his face. He didn’t say anything else, didn’t push, just nodded like he understood before turning his attention back to Faith.

“So,” he said, and extended an arm, “one of the things I told Dawnie I’d do if it turned out slayers were real was challenge them to arm wrestling.” He waggled his fingers. “Ready to put me in my place?”

Faith stared at him, uncomprehending.

_Dammit._

This was not a guy she wanted to like. But dammit.

She glanced at Dawn, whose expression was unreadable, then sighed and placed her elbow on the table in prime arm-wrestling stature. “You don’t expect me to go easy on you, do you?”

“My fragile male ego wishes you would, but no, I don’t expect it.”

Now she was trying not to grin. Damn him.

“Good. Then I’ll make this as quick for you as possible.”

She slid her palm along his and didn’t hold back when his fingers closed around her.

“One,” Daniel counted, “two, three, go—damn.” He blinked at the hand she’d smashed to the table in a dumb stupor, then raised his eyes to hers, his own glistening with new respect. “That was…emasculating as fuck.”

Faith smirked. “Glad to be of service.”

“Seriously…” He glanced at Dawn, barking a laugh, and looked back. “I think of myself as a pretty progressive guy, but I’m not sure I’d be man enough not to be the strong one in a relationship. It’s hard enough when Dawnie shows up my ass on every hunt.”

“Hey, most guys can’t admit that much,” Faith replied, shrugging. “Probably bodes better for you that you do. Even with B and Blondie—she was always stronger than him, but once she turned vamp, that was—”

“Faith!” Dawn hissed.

Daniel blinked and turned to her. “Whoa… So your sister is not only Buffy the Vampire Slayer, but she’s Buffy the _Vampire_ Vampire Slayer?”

“And thank you for that,” Dawn groused before meeting her boyfriend’s gaze. “Yes. My sister is a vampire. But she has a soul so, please don’t stake her. Also, you couldn’t stake her if you tried, but if you try, odds are you’ll just get Spike all mad and then he’ll kill you before I get a chance to tell him not to.”

“Spike?”

“Buffy’s mate. Another vampire.”

“Also souled?”

“Not so much, no. But he’s also unstakeable on account that both Buffy _and_ I will kill you if you try.”

Daniel took this with admirable aplomb. “All right. Good to know.”

Dawn offered him a soft smile and kissed his cheek, and the way the guy’s eyes lit up told Faith everything she needed to know about him.

In that, he was ass-over-head in love with Dawn.

And, from the way Dawn’s eyes didn’t light up at all—not until a de-Teletubbied Sam and naughty firefighter Dean stepped out from the back—Faith knew everything she needed to know about her.

Namely that Dawn was still ass-over-head in love with Sam.

Which made this nice and complicated.

*~*~*

“So who are you here as?” Willow asked Harry after he and Ginny had pulled her a safe distance from anyone remotely political. She was eyeing Harry’s costume, which—if she wasn’t quite mistaken—was an elegant spin on the Gryffindor robes made popular by the movie franchise. The actual Hogwarts crest was a tad different than the one that could currently be purchased on anything from jewelry to coasters, but it was close enough that only someone with inside knowledge would know the difference.

“Harry Potter, obviously,” Harry replied, pushing back his mess of black hair to reveal his scar, which was shinier tonight than normal. Like he’d applied liberal amounts of Vaseline to make sure it stood out. “Since that’s my name and I’m supposed to be making nice with Muggles, I thought I’d bite the bullet and play the role.”

Willow blinked. “That’s…unlike you.”

Harry shrugged. “There are more important things in life than obsessing over how a hack writer botched up the most difficult period of my life and how millions of people seem to find my pain and suffering entertaining.”

“In other words,” Ginny said, “‘if you can’t beat them…’”

“Precisely,” Harry agreed. “So Hermione found me these ridiculously expensive _licensed_ Harry Potter Gryffindor robes so Ginny and I could attend as ourselves.”

“How are you doing?” Ginny asked, glancing pointedly in Sam’s direction. “It must be awful being here without _being_ here. I know there were plenty of events after Harry got into the Ministry that made me feel invisible.”

“And times you were invisible,” Harry muttered.

“Well, the Cloak comes in handy,” Ginny agreed. “But it wasn’t until I started playing for the Holyhead Harpies that I became anything other than _Harry Potter’s girlfriend_ or _Harry Potter’s wife_. He’d go to these events and just be cornered by a bunch of witches aching to show their appreciation for his having gotten rid of Voldemort. Took everything I had not to hex them.”

“She hexed them,” Harry said.

“Not all of them.”

Harry shook his head and mouthed, “All of them.”

Ginny rolled her eyes, elbowing her husband in the ribs. “But this is something else entirely, having to distance yourself from the father of your child. I saw some Muggle reporter speculating that Sam is here with an actress called Emma Stone and that they are secretly engaged.”

Willow released a long breath, flexing her fingers and ignoring the sparks of magic that danced along her skin. Yeah, she was a possessive witch on top of being a possessive bitch, and while she and Sam had been cozy for the past few months, there was little she hated more in the world than not being able to publicly claim the person she loved. Because, as Josh loved to point out, he was the most eligible bachelor in American politics, and everyone wanted a piece. There had even been talk of him starring on _The Bachelor_. Josh had gotten past the discovery discussions and into polling—thanks to Joey Lucas—on whether or not a presidential candidate starring on a reality TV show was really a deal-breaker, and preliminary poll numbers had been good. Most women of a certain age just wanted to see Sam without a shirt on. And while Willow could definitely appreciate that, it didn’t mean she wanted to encourage this behavior.

“Merlin’s saggy left nut,” Ginny swore, her eyes going wide. “Quick, masks on.”

Harry turned and followed the direction of her gaze. “Bugger.”

“What?”

“Masks on.” Harry affixed his mask, which was little more than an embellishment of his glasses, courtesy of him being himself, and looked pointedly at the ground. “And…might be a good time to go get some air.”

“What is going on?” Willow turned and rose on her tiptoes to see what had gotten them in a tizzy, but there was nothing amiss. Except for a woman with a heavy-jawed face, heavily penciled eyebrows, jeweled glasses, and abrasively loud blonde curls were cutting a path through the attendees and to them. She carried a crocodile-skin handbag, something Willow wasn’t sure she’d actually ever seen out in the real world, and that detail combined with all the others made the bells in her head start to sound off.

“Oh, sod it. She’s spotted us,” Ginny muttered, then smacked Harry’s shoulder. “What in the blazes is she doing here?”

“Who is it?” Willow asked, feeling like she should know the answer. Dreading it.

“Rita Skeeter.”

“Rita Skeet…the _Daily Prophet_ reporter?”

“And Albus Dumbledore biographer,” Harry agreed in a low snarl. “What _is_ she doing here, Gin? She should be halfway across the bloody globe and nowhere near a Quick Quotes Quill.”

But before Ginny could even begin to pretend she had an answer, Rita Skeeter pulled up beside Harry and threw an arm around him as though they were old friends.

“Harry!” she boomed loud enough to draw the attention of nearby attendees. “It’s been too long, darling!”

“Rita,” Harry said between clenched teeth, “what the bleeding hell are you doing here?”

“Reporting, of course.” She flashed a gold-toothed smile at Willow. “Very hush hush, but our readers are just dying to know what Willow Rosenberg is getting up to with her politician.”

Ginny whipped out her wand and muttered, “ _Muffliato_ ,” so quickly that the action could have been mistaken for a wave of her hand. “Are you mad?” she hissed once the wand safely tucked away. “The International Statute of Secrecy—”

“Is something the Potters have regarded more as _guidelines_ for years,” Skeeter sneered. “And relax, I am posing here as a regular Muggle reporter. You’ll notice that I don’t have my Quick Quotes Quill visible.” She turned her grin on Willow again. “Want to be a lamb and give us an interview?”

“Umm, hell no,” Willow said.

“I can always just write based on my observations,” Skeeter said. “I don’t suppose that insipid Hermione Granger-Weasley told you that I am now a registered Animagus. There are ways of getting the quotes I need.”

“Not on the record!”

“Dear, those are Muggle rules, not Magical.” She flicked her eyebrows. “This way you’ll, at least, have some control in what gets written. What do you say?”

*~*~*

Dawn’s heart had yet to stop pounding, and that was a problem because it wasn’t pounding for the right reasons. Reasons like watching Daniel hold his own against Faith, watching the wary mistrust in her eyes fade into something more like admiration. Daniel had a quality about him that everyone liked, and could disarm pretty much the most guarded asshole on the planet with nothing more than a wink and a smile.

But dammit, he still wasn’t Sam. And if seeing her ex decked out in a freaking Tinky Winky costume wasn’t enough to cool her loins for him, she doubted there was a force powerful enough in the world.

In truth, she really wasn’t even all that annoyed with Faith for bringing up the vampire thing, the Buffy thing, or dancing around the Key thing. A few months ago—when she and Sam had been together—that kind of talk would have had her aching for a fight. But the truth of the matter was she’d kinda hoped Faith _would_ say something to dump a bucket of ice down Daniel’s pants. Because Daniel was the sort of hunter most hunters were—the only good monster was a dead one. Hell, getting him to understand the concept of Rosa Lee’s had been difficult enough. Buffy being something other than human had somewhat been her ace in the hole, the emergency stop she had planned for whenever she needed to get out of this relationship and fast. Granted, she hadn’t intended to pull that emergency stop anytime soon…but seeing Sam had a way of putting things in perspective.

Except _no it didn’t._ Dumping Daniel wouldn’t make Sam magically want her again, even if she could have sworn his eyes lit up when he’d heard her voice. Or that Dean and Faith had exchanged _oh shit_ glances like her presence here mattered a damn. She was just seeing what she wanted to see. Nothing had changed.

Dawn flashed a smile at Nick, who slid her usual across the bar. She’d volunteered to get refills—and something Daniel would actually like—just to take a breather from everything.

“Long time, love,” he said. “Ready to come back?”

She slid her gaze to Wesley, who was serving a group of demons at the other end of the bar. “You actually hired him.”

“And I’d love to give him the sack, so just say the word and the job’s yours.”

“I was kinda awful at the job.”

“You never tried to off my girlfriend, though, so there’s that.”

Wes swung his head up with a scowl, having clearly heard as much, though he didn’t reply. There really wasn’t a leg to stand on.

“I kinda doubt we’ll stay for too long,” Dawn said, her heart doing a mad little leap when she caught a glance of Sam out of the corner of her eye. He was giving her the widest berth possible, apparently determined to avoid her. “Daniel and I really only swung by to make with the saveage.”

“Next time, you might pick up the bloody phone while you’re at it.”

“Faith already gave me the third degree. I don’t need it from you, too.” She took a sip of her drink, not letting herself turn around because she knew the second she did, she’d search out Sam. “Have you heard from Buffy lately?”

“She drops a line every week or so. Seems she and Spike are having a ripping good time in merry old London.”

“Did you…just become more British as you spoke?”

“He knows I find it hot,” said Rosalie, who suddenly appeared at her side, her expression shrewd. “Good to see you, Dawn.”

“Thanks. You too.”

“Even if you made things hella awkward for me when you left.”

Her heart did that jumping thing again. “Sorry…but how?”

“Are you kidding? Sam’s been a total bear.”

Nick sighed. “Rose—”

“What? I know he did the dumping, but I think just taking off might have been a bit premature.” She nodded toward the table where Faith and Sabrina sat entertaining Daniel. “And showing up with a hot new boy toy? Do you have _any_ idea how many miles he’s going to tack onto my morning run?”

The thought was rather encouraging—encouraging in ways it so shouldn’t be. Dawn released a long sigh, looking for the mature, non-homewrecker she was sure lived inside of her and strove to hold on. “I’m sure that’s nothing,” she said. “Believe me, he was rather direct about the fact that we were just a fling. If he’s been pissy, maybe that’s someone else’s fault.”

Rosalie snickered and rolled her eyes, but didn’t otherwise reply, and that was a good thing because if she said any more she might give Dawn enough courage to do something really stupid, like corner Sam and plaster herself all over him. Even if a breakup with Daniel was likely on the horizon somewhere, she owed him a conversation, at least, before that happened.

Or, better yet, to get the fuck out of town before she could start thinking things that weren’t true.

It took a lot of willpower, but Dawn managed to keep herself from looking for Sam when she turned around and made her way back to the table. After this drink, she’d suggest they hit the road. They’d already stayed longer than she’d intended and she didn’t need to start feeling cozy around anyone here.

Daniel’s eyes lit up in that special just-for-her way when she slid into the booth beside him. “Excellent timing,” he said, and kissed her cheek. “Sabrina was just filling me in on this soul they have and need to unlock. I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve volunteered to take a look.”

Dawn flushed hot. “Soul?”

“Angel’s,” Faith supplied, watching her closely. “Still haven’t managed to crack the warding.”

“Warding just happens to be one of my specialties, as I was telling them.” Daniel beamed. “And I must admit, I am intrigued by this idea of a vampire with a soul being something other than a monster. That’s something I think I need to see for myself.”

“So…we’re staying.”

“For a bit, if that’s all right. Probably won’t take too long to crack the warding and then we can be on our way.”

Faith snorted. “You are one cocky motherfucker.”

“I know what I’m good at. Not all of us can be super strong warriors, after all.”

Faith inclined her head to show she understood, then met Dawn’s gaze, and Dawn didn’t know what to make of what she saw there. Nor of the butterflies that had taken residence in her stomach, or the thought of what might happen if she and Sam were forced to remain near each other.

It was a bad idea. The worst.

Yet she couldn’t say so, so instead, she forced a smile and hoped to fuck it looked natural.


	5. Chapter 5

Dean was disappointed and a little pissed that everyone—especially his Kitty—had been so damn quick to go and make chummy with Dawn’s new man. Seemed people were quick to throw Sam’s heart to the curb for a chance to crack open Angel’s soul orb.

Everyone except him.

Sam had quietly assured him that he’d be okay taking on patrol with Rosalie as long as Dean was quick to get them out of the bunker before the end of the night. Dean hoped Mr. Fancy Pants Daniel made quick work of realizing he was out of his league and he and Dawn would mosey on down the road she’d been on the last few months.

“What crawled up your ass and died?” Faith questioned after he turned out Rosa Lee’s lot for home.

He felt the muscles twitch as he clenched his jaw. Like she didn’t know.

Releasing a deep sigh, she wiggled in the seat to face him as he kept his eyes square on the road. “We’ve been shooting craps for months now on this whole Angel deal. It’d be stupid to pass up a fresh set of eyes.”

Dean merely grunted in response. He almost expected this kinda bullshit from Sabrina or Cass. Faith was supposed to know better according to Chuck and the whole soulmate situation.

“He’s not a total dick, you know,” she reasoned. “And I got no beef with Dawn considering Sam broke up with her.”

“You’re supposed to be on _my_ side,” he blurted out in frustration.

“And how am I not?” Her calmness just pissed him off more.

“Because Sam—”

“I ain’t banging Sammy last time I checked. And you might be his brother, but he’s a big boy and he made his bed with her the moment he ran her off instead of telling her the truth.”

Dean finally gave her a glance. “You know that it’s still just you, me, and Sam that knows what happened, right?”

“Duh.” She rolled her eyes. “Another point for the casual approach, Ducky.”

“You could’ve taken the approach of the fact he’s your boyfriend’s brother,” he grumbled.

“I didn’t give him a fucking friendship bracelet, Dean. All I did was nod along when he pitched he could take a look at the orb spells. Which, if you weren’t being such a stubborn ass, you’d admit was a good idea.”

“I admit nothing,” he huffed. “Except if he ends up dead, it was an accident and by the laws of soulmateness you will help me cover it up as an accident.”

Faith snorted. “That a two-way street?”

“Obviously.”

“Whatever. I bet you twenty bucks that if you spend more than ten minutes talking with him you start to like him. He’s your kinda guy.”

“You’re on.”

“He’s obviously a decent hunter. Cocky but in a charming way, easy on the eyes—”

“Hey!”

She chuckled. “Just sayin’, Ducky. Seems like your kinda—”

“Sam’s in love with her,” he blurted out.

For her part, Faith didn’t seem at all shocked. “You really didn’t see it. Why do you think he’s been screwed tighter than a baby’s sphincter?”

“The blood. I thought maybe it was just the demon blood thing.”

She leaned over and gave him a patronizing pat on the thigh. “Good thing you’re a pretty boy.”

“Shut up,” he snapped without enough venom to make it count. “And I’m _not_ liking the douche,” he added.

“Did you find the hat?” She was obviously done with the angsty part of their conversation now that he was talking. “Because you were working on me with the whole ensemble.”

Making sure the coast was clear, he pulled a U-turn that sent her flying across the seat with a shriek and a laugh. The night was still young and he still had plenty of hose puns he hadn’t used.

*~*~*

“Thank you so much for coming tonight,” Sam gushed as he approached the Bartlets.

“Anything to help,” Abby Bartlet said as she reached out to give him a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

“I begged her not to come, but she knew it was the only way I’d dress up again before I die,” Jed Bartlet grumbled. “I look absolutely ridiculous.”

Abby beamed first at Sam and then her husband. “We went with Alexander and Eliza Hamilton.”

“He was assassinated, much like I hope I am this evening.”

Sam chuckled as he shook the man’s hand. “Still, I’m honored, Mr. President. I know the significance of having you here while the primaries haven’t been decided and I’m humbled and touched, sincerely.”

“You’re family, Sam,” Abby said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Now shut up and show me a picture of that baby.”

Sam emitted a giggle as he whipped out his phone and pulled up the latest photos in his camera roll. “Here’s Oz and Leo in their Halloween costumes.”

Passing the phone to Dr. Bartlet, she gushed and cooed in a typical maternal fashion. She awaited her husband to affix his glasses before handing the phone over for his inspection. “Wizards?” he asked. “You dressed them up like baby wizards?”

Sam’s laugh turned nervous. “Donna thought it was whimsical.”

“Tacky,” Jed muttered before getting smacked by his wife. He glanced back at the photo and cracked a grin. “But they’re both handsome little fellas. He’d be so proud of both of you.”

A lump lodged itself in Sam’s throat as he immediately knew who _he_ was. “I miss him every day. Josh too.”

“Me too,” Jed said as his smile faltered. “But his memory will live on with our new Leo.”

“Yes, sir,” Sam agreed.

“Mallory’s divorced,” Abby said in a pathetic attempt to be subtle.

“Oh?” Sam couldn’t think of a better response.

“Just throwing it out there,” she said with a casual shrug.

Sam exchanged a slightly alarmed look with his mentor, trying to gauge how much the president had informed his wife about Oz’s mother. “Let’s save the matchmaking for later,” Jed said before grasping his wife’s arm. “And find the open bar.”

Breathing a sigh of relief as they sauntered away, he turned to find Willow right in front of him. “We need to talk,” she whispered. Through her mask, he noted the panic in her eyes.

“Fantastic,” he replied as he plastered a giant fake smile on his face.

She blinked in confusion before catching the hint and attempting to grin with an appalling result of looking like a deranged manic. “I’ve been recognized.”

“Loosen it up, honey. You look like a Victorian Pennywise.”

Apparently she didn’t have a middle ground because her face sank to a scowl. “Did you hear me?”

“I’m trying to pretend we’re having a casual conversation, Will. Help me out.”

She went back to goofy. “Rita Skeeter’s here.”

Sam knew the name sounded familiar, but couldn’t place it. “Who?”

“The journalist.”

“From the _Post_?”

“ _The Daily Prophet_.”

“The—” His eyes went wide as it hit him. “The magic paper.”

“Yes!”

“No press was supposed to get in.”

“I know.”

“How—”

“Magic, Sam.”

Now he was unable to keep from frowning. “Your people, Will—”

“ _My_ people?”

“You’re killing me, Smalls.”

It was enough to break the tension and get her to show her real, and much more endearing, smile. “Have I ruined everything yet?”

“No,” he said softly. “And you look exquisite.”

“You look downright lickable.”

He grinned. “It’s a long night.”

She had the decency to blush. “Just saying.”

“Handle Skeeter,” he quietly recommended.

“She wants an interview.”

“Okay,” he accepted as Josh came marching over.

“Mr. Governor,” the man said in a tone that all but shouted his displeasure. “You have _many_ other people to address.”

“Whatever,” Sam mumbled, still looking at Willow. “You good.”

“What?” Josh said in a panic.

“Nothing,” Sam and Willow said in unison. She followed by nodding. “Okay.”

Unable to resist, Sam leaned over and whispered in her ear. “You’re always lickable.” Then he turned and walked away before he did something stupid like stick his tongue down her throat.

Yeah, maybe he better lay off the unlimited cocktails.

*~*~*

His game plan had been simple. Just another day patrolling the dormant hellmouth with his slayer. They’d make a sweep around the area and look for any remaining demons from the attack or any other monsters that had come to raise hell around the Midwest’s newest and most popular demon bar.

His plan went to shit nearly an hour after it began. What had been a routine bathroom break for Rosalie inside Rosa Lee’s had resulted in Sam sitting down at the bar and beginning to chug back drinks as quickly as Wes could serve them up.

Rose didn’t come back and shortly thereafter Nick went to his office. Sam knew Nick had gone to his office by the loud scream he heard a minute after he’d disappeared. Things had quieted after that and Sam suspected that his slayer made an impromptu booty call since she never returned to patrol.

Sober Sam would have cared enough to message her. Possibly even go in for coitus interruptus. He most certainly wouldn’t let the moment go without some uptight argument about duty and expectations and obligations.

Drunk Sam didn’t give a flying fuck.

Dawn had chosen the worst possible moment to come crashing back into his life and he felt entitled to a pity party. Judging by the silent looks Wes had kept tossing him as he alternated between serving customers as the poured in and filling up his glass, he wasn’t the only one feeling sorry for him tonight.

Part of him wanted to blame Rosalie and her stupid costume for everything, but Sam knew that there was never going to be an easy way for him to look Dawnie in the eye after what he’d done.

He just never imagined she would have gone and found herself a new boyfriend.

Which was absurd. For one, he and Dawn hadn’t lasted long enough to declare him an ex-boyfriend. And second was the fact that Dawn was any guy’s wet dream. Of course someone would see how beautiful and smart and witty and charming and skillful and downright amazing she was as a woman and a hunter.

Fuck Daniel.

Something told him that if Dawnie had chosen him that this Daniel was a decent guy. The rational part of his brain knew that she wasn’t the kind of girl that would be tricked by any dude who could wield a knife and shoot a gun. As the sister of the world’s most notorious slayer, Dawn Summers was as experienced at hunting as they came.

But fuck Daniel.

Just because she’d fallen for him didn’t mean he was anything special. She’d fallen for him once too, so her taste in men was questionable at best. At the end of the day, he figured that he’d be able to pass off any contempt for Dawn’s new boy toy as nothing more than a rational and healthy distrust of anyone new coming into the tight-knit circle surrounding Rose and the other slayers. He _had_ been a little too enthusiastic upon confirmation of their existence.

“Hey,” Rose said as she came up and hopped up on the stool next to him. He noted her flushed cheeks and relaxed smile with jealous contempt.

“You boinked him,” he said bluntly.

Her eyes went wide until she glanced down at the empty glass in his hand. “Well, I kinda owed him one after the whole Tinky Winky thing.”

“You owe me too,” Sam pointed out bitterly.

“Yeah, but if I boinked you we’d both just be grossed out.” She smirked. “Did you prop the costume up in Nick’s office to be funny?”

“Dean did.”

“That makes sense because you’re never funny.” She motioned to Wes and asked for a soda.

“I’m funny,” he spat.

“Tell me something funny, Sam,” she demanded.

“Fuck Daniel.”

Wes snickered, but Rosalie merely rolled her eyes. As she snatched up her drink, she pointed a finger at the bartender. “You really liquored up my watcher.”

“He deserved some refreshment,” Wes said innocently as he turned back to serving other patrons.

“Agreed,” Sam stated and smacked his empty glass on the bar. “Toss me another, Wes.”

Rosalie reaches over and snatched the glass up and pushed it to the far side of the bar away from Sam’s grasp. “How about we patrol now?”

“How about you go back to banging your boyfriend and I have a few more refreshments.”

“See, you can be funny. It just takes you getting drunk to get there.”

“I’m fine,” he huffed. “Let’s go.” He attempted to jump off the stool with a confident grace that displayed he was completely in control of his faculties.

“Funny,” she said without humor as he stumbled and nearly fell over as she grabbed him to keep him upright.

“Fuck Daniel is funny,” he said with a giggle.

“I’m taking you home,” she said decisively.

“You can’t,” he grunted in response. “We have to patrol.”

“Sam, buddy, you’re sloshed.”

“She’s there,” he explained in a loud whisper. “I can’t. Last time I got this drunk we had sex and I slipped her panties in Spike’s car.”

“Spike’s not here and I don’t think she’s having sex with you.”

“Fuck Daniel.”

“You broke up with her, you dumbass.”

“I broke up with her because…” Nope. He wasn’t drunk enough to admit to anyone that the truth was he’d broken up with Dawn because he’d been too ashamed to admit his struggles against blood addiction had overpowered him and he’d been too weak to ask for help. “I’m a dumbass.”

“Yup.” Without skipping a beat, she ushered him toward the door and snatched his truck keys from his pocket. Before he’d had enough sense to fight they were loaded up and on their way to the bunker.

The radio was still tuned into the outlaw country station he’d been listening to before. It wasn’t his kind of music, but he’d settled on it when he’d heard a David Allen Coe classic his dad used to turn on back in the day when he was looking to tie one on. Sam was bemused to ponder how John Winchester would react if he’d been alive today.

First things first, he’d kill Giles. Then, he’d sweep Mom up and cart her off to make up for thirty plus years apart. He’d like the bunker, love finding out about a daughter and be dumbfounded to learn about slayers, watchers and the whole Men of Letters. Sam suspected he’d also love seeing Dean settled down with a woman as perfect for him as Faith. Though Faith would have a few choice words to give the old man for the emotional abuse he’d subjected his eldest son to over the years. It was definitely a conversation Sam would like to watch.

His dad would likely kick his ass too for the way he’d fucked up things with Dawn. Instead of telling him to let it go, he’d imagine John Winchester would tell him that he should fight for what he wants and fuck the rest.

Granted, John Winchester wasn’t exactly Sam’s ideal role model. It had taken a lot of years of hard living and bad mistakes to finally come to peace with his dad and the choices he’d made while struggling to raise two boys as a widowed hunter out on the road. He’d done the best he could, but it was far from perfect.

A familiar twang came out of the speakers as they pulled into the garage, but Rosalie killed Hank Williams Jr. before he hit the chorus. “I know that one!” Sam whined.

“Let’s play The Quiet Game,” Rose suggested as she slid out the driver’s seat and shut the truck door.

Sam had every intention to not only play but to win. Until he got inside, forgot why he was being quiet and really wanted to finish the song he had been listening to. _“Hank, why do you drink?”_ he sang as they entered the bunker. _“Hank, why do you roll smoke?”_

Rosalie stopped and turned around. “Sam?”

_“Why must you live out the songs that you wrote?”_ he continued as he strolled past her. _“If I'm down in a honky-tonk and some ole slick's trying to give me friction.”_

“You forgot the quiet part,” she told him as he kept on.

_“I'll say leave me alone. I'm singing all night long. It's a family tradition.”_

Sam finally remembered why he didn’t want to come home when he descended the main staircase and found a group of people—most importantly Dawn and fucking Daniel—staring at him in confusion.

“Uhh…” he said as his mind blanked.

Dean grinned and tipped up the beer in his hand. _“Lord I have loved some ladies and I have loved Jim Beam,”_ he crooned.

Sam continued with him. “ _And they both tried to kill me in 1973. When that doctor asked me, Son how did you get in this condition? I said, hey sawbones, I'm just carrying on an ole family tradition.”_

“What’s happening?” Giles asked loudly.

“Shhh!” Dean teased. “Chorus time.” Then he sang, _“Hank, why do you drink?”_

Sam responded with, _“Hank, why do you roll smoke?”_

“You’re not helping,” Rosalie snapped at the eldest Winchester.

Dean shrugged and continued. _“Why must you live out the songs that you wrote?”_

Together Sam and Dean finished out the song. _“Stop and think it over. Try and put yourself in my unique position. If I get stoned and sing all night long, it’s a family tradition!”_

There was an awkward silence afterward that made Sam uncomfortably aware that he was a focus of everyone’s attention.

Giles cleared his throat. “Again I ask, what is happening?”

“‘Bocephus’? Seriously?” Dean shook his head. “A classic.”

“If you expand the definition to anything old, sure,” Faith teased.

The room was spinning and Sam felt like lying down. He turned to make a quiet exit from the room and ran smack into a table, sending a lamp crashing to the marble floor. “Balls!” he shouted as he stumbled away.

Hopefully, he’d fall asleep and die.


	6. Chapter 6

“Well, now, isn’t this cozy?” Rita Skeeter offered a rather large wink as she drew herself into the corner of the massive stateroom, shoulders back and her prominent jaw elevated in a haughty way. She pulled out a pen—regular, thankfully—and scowled at it as though it had offended her. “I don’t know how Muggles manage with these things,” she muttered, drawing out a pad of paper. “But I don’t mind roughing it for a good story. So, Willow, tell me truthfully… Are you Oz’s mother?”

Ginny clamped her hand on Willow’s shoulder in a death grip. “She will not be answering that,” she informed Rita coolly in a thankfully authoritative sort of voice. Already, Willow was shaking rather hard and somewhat concerned she might start shooting off sparks of magic that, masquerade or not, would be difficult to explain away.

“My dear, readers are going to be able to put two-and-two together,” Rita replied, her tone saccharine. “When you left England eight months ago, you were about ready to pop. Where is the child you were carrying, if it isn’t Oz Seaborn?”

Willow pressed her lips together, fighting the temptation to curse Skeeter and get it all over with. “My child is living with his father at the moment, with whom I am in daily contact,” she said carefully.

“Sly, Ms. Rosenberg, very sly,” Rita said approvingly, then grimaced as she jotted something down, looking like she’d never held a regular pen before. “And I suppose it is just coincidence that you, having no remarkable connection to anyone in American politics, happen to have secured an invite to a private fundraiser for presidential hopeful Samuel Norman Seaborn?”

“Norman?” Harry echoed behind her. This was followed by an _oof_ that Willow could only hope meant that Ginny had elbowed her husband.

“I am a native Californian,” Willow said, her voice a bit steadier than it had been a moment before. “And my father is a large donor to the governor’s campaign.” Or he would be after she concluded this interview. Ira Rosenberg was a straight-ticket Republican, but thankfully, numbers and records could be manipulated.

“So you bought your way in, is that what I’m hearing?”

“Donors over a certain threshold were invited to attend to the Masquerade.”

“And do all donors over a certain threshold get to cozy up to the candidate?” Skeeter smirked and withdrew something from the gap of her cleavage—something that looked suspiciously like a cell phone. She tapped on the screen, then turned the device to reveal a rather candid shot of Willow in Sam’s arms, caught in that romantic dip from earlier that night. Context was everything, of course, and the photo lacked that—being that it had been captured with Muggle technology and not magical. Even if Willow did manage to explain she’d tripped, there was no way anyone would believe it. Not with the way she and Sam were staring at each other like they wanted to eat each other alive.

“Let’s talk real now, shall we?” Rita said, smirking still as she tucked the phone back between her breasts. “Willow Rosenberg, are you the mother of Samuel Seaborn’s bastard child?”

Yeah, that was the wrong thing to say. Willow shot to her feet, her fists clenched, magical static dancing over her knuckles. “Don’t you dare talk about my son that way.”

Behind her, Ginny gave a loud groan.

“I will call that a rather emphatic _yes_.”

Willow sank back into her seat, her heart thundering so hard her bones shook. Okay, she could manage this. Was it optimal? No. A world of no. Couldn’t be farther from it. But was it the end of the world? Also no—Willow had attended quite a few of those by now and Rita Skeeter didn’t even register a blip on the radar.

“So…” Skeeter’s acidic smile grew wider. “How long have you been fucking the governor, Willow? And what does this mean for the International Statute of Secrecy? Does he know about your, ahh, colorful past?”

“It means absolutely nothing for the Statute of Secrecy,” Willow replied in a rush. “And yes, Sam has been aware of the existence of magic for more than two years now. The line of communication is open between both MACUSA and the Ministry of Magic, should he become the next President of the United States. If his White House bid doesn’t work out, he will remain an instrumental force in one of the largest states in the country to better Muggle-Wizard relations nationwide.”

At no point did Rita look even slightly impressed. Instead, she offered that saccharine smile again and inclined her head. “That’s just lovely, dear,” she said. “So when can we expect to hear wedding bells?”

“Excuse me?”

“Don’t answer,” Ginny said, tightening her grip on Willow’s shoulder. “End the interview.”

“You and the governor obviously share a very special bond, in addition to having a child.” The smile broadened. “Our readers love a good happily ever after.”

“Our relationship is not a matter of interest.”

“Willow.” Harry now, his voice equally strained. “End the interview. That’s enough.”

Rita batted him off, not breaking eye contact. “Of course it is a matter of interest. A witch—especially one with circumstances as _unique_ and _special_ as yours—will potentially be the first lady, or whatever it is the Muggles call the wife of the president over here.” Skeeter rolled her eyes dismissively. “There’s nothing the public loves better than a good, long engagement. Yours will be going public, when?”

“We aren’t announcing anything until after the General Election.”

“Lovely. And Oz. Let’s talk Oz for a moment. How often do you see him?”

“Every day. He’s my son.”

“This interview is over,” Ginny announced loudly, pulling Willow to her feet. “Rita, you have more than enough for whatever fluff piece you’re running. Now get out of here before I send an owl to Hermione with the _gentle suggestion_ that you be chucked into Azkaban the second you set foot in England.”

“On what charges?” Rita asked in a simper. “Mrs. Granger-Weasley isn’t quite as resourceful as you would like to think.”

“Really? Want to gamble on that?” Ginny stormed forward with the same ferocity in her eyes she used on the Quidditch pitch as she plowed through the opposing team’s defenses and did things with a Quaffle that Quidditch experts were still writing books about. “My sister-in-law is just the sort of witch you want to underestimate, Rita. You think she made your life hell when she was fourteen? Imagine what she can do with the power of the Ministry at her back. Lay off Willow and Sam Seaborn and you might be able to enjoy the rest of your days as an ugly old has-been writing crackpot pieces for the _Prophet_. Decide to mess with me and mine? Well, it’ll be your bloody funeral.”

Harry began tugging on Ginny’s arm, paler than usual. “Gin—”

“I would be very careful, my dear,” Skeeter replied, still sickly sweet. She rose to full height and stuffed her notepad and pen into her crocodile-skin handbag. “You might get exactly what you deserve one of these days.”

And without awaiting another word, Rita Skeeter disappeared with a loud _crack._

*~*~*

“It probably says something about me that this turns me on.”

Faith turned—best she could, at least—to favor Dean with an arched eyebrow. Being that she had Sam strewn over one shoulder in a fireman’s carry, she didn’t have full use of her shoulders, which made glaring at someone who was beside her a bit difficult. “Pretty sure just about everything turns you on, Ducky.”

“Where you’re concerned, yes,” he agreed, glancing at the way Sam’s knuckles grazed the floor. “All that strength is all mine.”

“Pretty sure it’s actually all mine.”

“Yeah, but that tattoo on your pelvis says you’re all _mine_ , so your strength is, too. I ain’t too good at book smarts, but I’m pretty sure there’s some law of math that backs me up.”

She snorted and rolled her eyes again. “You’re hopeless.”

“Not these days. Not anymore.”

That was a bit too sappy for her, but he capped it with a wink that had her legs going all gooey—so gooey that she couldn’t find it within herself to make fun of him. Instead, she just shook her head and offered another snicker to hide her grin, then stepped back as they stopped in front of the door to Sam’s room.

“I ain’t ever seen him get this toasted,” she observed after Dean cleared the threshold and held the door open for her. “Probably shouldn’t give him too much shit in the morning.”

“Well, you’re no fun.”

“Think there’s a mark on your ass that proves otherwise.” Faith dumped Sam unceremoniously onto his bed, then turned to find Dean rubbing said ass. “Daniel wanted to check out Angel’s soul tonight, see if there’s shit he can cross-reference or whatever in his notes before we do a big group powwow. You wanna stay with Captain Morgan here, or do you wanna help?”

“That depends—are you planning on cracking an actual whip anytime soon?”

“Ain’t that how you got the mark on your ass?”

Dean scowled and rubbed his hands over his backside again. “Never said I didn’t like it.”

Right, but then there had been that time not too long ago when he’d made a point of letting her know just how much it hurt to try and sit down. That was another thing about her Ducky—she never knew if what turned him on today would work tomorrow. Well, in most things she knew exactly what would do it for him, but he wavered between liking it rough and being a big baby more than any guy she’d ever known. “Never know when you’re gonna throw a hissy when I’m too rough with you.”

“Hissies are not things I throw. Come on.”

“Pretty sure I have video proof that you’re full of shit.”

His scowl deepened and he took a step forward. “First rule of Fight Club, Kitty,” he said in a low growl. Then, almost instantly, broke into a grin. “We should start a fight club!”

Faith rolled her eyes. “You wanna get little bro all tucked in and shit? I got a vamp’s soul to crack.”

“Demons could pay to see if they could take you down. Come on, it’s bulletproof.”

“Pretty sure that ain’t fight club.”

“Well, no, but it is a great way to make money.”

“Can’t say it wouldn’t make life simpler if all the bad guys just volunteered themselves to have the shit kicked outta them.” She smirked. “Have fun with that. I’m gonna go see how Dawn’s new boy toy measures up.”

Dean’s face fell into a scowl. “You could try ogling him a little less, you know,” he grumped. “No one here would mind.”

“I ain’t ogling no one and you know it.”

“There was definite eye contact.”

Faith rolled her head back and groaned. “I thought that coming down my throat earlier woulda made you a little less obnoxious tonight.” Unfortunately, they hadn’t had time to do more than a quick blowjob before some straggler demons from the earlier brawl had started banging on Baby’s doors, demanding a rematch. Dean had grumbled—again—being that his pants had been around his ankles, and Faith had doled out all the hurt by the time he’d managed to get himself presentable. It had put a bit of a damper on the mood, and she’d begged off, citing her need for a shower.

Left a girl feeling all kinds of unsatisfied.

“I’m not saying it wasn’t a step in the right direction,” Dean said. “But we don’t need all the chicks around here going gaga over the guy who stole my brother’s girl.”

“Ducky.”

Dean scowled. “I know, I know. Just try for some family loyalty here, could you?”

Faith sighed and shook her head, closing the space between them. “Like I said in the car, I feel for Sammy. I do. But this is his mess and you know it.” She looked away. “Can’t say I wouldn’t have done what Dawnie did had you been a dumbass and kicked me to the curb.”

She didn’t miss his wince but forced herself not to react. Dean had, in fact, been a dumbass and very nearly done just that. Thankfully, his dumbassery had been easy enough to undo, though it had cost him three months in Hell that he wouldn’t have otherwise been made to pay.

“Think I woulda killed whoever you showed up here with,” he muttered.

“Well, there’s a way to let a girl know you care.” She stole a quick kiss off his lips. “Sam made a dumbass decision and then he turned around and made another one. I love him like the brother I never wanted, but Dawn’s new plaything did nothing wrong by showing up.” She paused, gritting her teeth. “Dawn, on the other hand, coulda given us a head’s up that we were the _it_ place to be tonight but didn’t. If you wanna be pissed at anyone, be pissed at her.”

“Yeah, that was kind of a dick move.”

“Don’t think she was thinkin’, though.” Faith eyed Sam to make sure he was still well and conked out. “Pretty sure she’s still nuts for the moose.”

“What? Even though she came here with Pretty Boy?”

Faith shrugged. “Told you, if it was you and me and I was still all up in my feels about you—”

“You could just say you love me, you know. Those words are allowed.”

Yeah, and she was getting better at saying them, but even six months later, it still felt a little weird. Dean wasn’t a fan of the whole coital-love-confession thing, but it was where it felt the most natural for her. Even now, when he’d kiss her and tell her he loved her, she’d be lucky if she could do more than blush and mutter a quick, “You too,” before trying to distract herself with something else. Sure, she managed to get the words out without prompting, but it was a struggle for her. One that Dean happened to love because every time she’d get all antsy, he’d just grin and wink. The fact that she was so self-conscious about it, to hear him talk, was just another way he knew how deeply she meant it.

“Fine,” Faith said. “If you’d chucked me out and I got wind that somethin’ was about to come down here and I was still _in love_ with you, then yeah, I’d make sure the next time you saw me I was draped all over some good-looking motherfucker, preferably one that looked at me the way Daniel looks at Dawn. Better if you’d thought I’d gotten over your ass.”

Dean frowned, his brow furrowing. “So you’re saying Daniel’s a prop.”

“More or less, yeah. I think if Dawn really didn’t care about Sam, she woulda called us to give us a head’s up that she was comin’. The only reason to not is so she can make an entrance.”

Dean glanced back at Sam, the wheels behind his eyes turning. “Well, that changes everything.”

“Ducky—”

“He’s in love with her, Fay. If she just showed up here with her man-candy to make a point, he could—”

“Anythin’ gonna change?” she asked pointedly. “Sammy tells her he made a mistake—what then? She doesn’t ask any questions? Doesn’t wonder why? Doesn’t start thinkin’ that maybe he changed his mind just because he saw her show up with someone else? He ready to be honest with her? Gonna spill about his _blood_ addiction? Tell her that the reason he broke her heart was because he was ashamed of himself?” Faith broke off with a short laugh. “Neither of you boys are exactly open books, you know.”

“Neither are you,” Dean shot back. “And I _am_ open with you.”

“Yeah, and I’m in love with your ass and I still trip over the words every time I say them. Sam didn’t even get that far with Dawnie, far as I can tell, so why the hell would he be willin’ to put it all out there now?” Faith shook her head. “You know him best, know what’ll hit and what won’t. So if you think tellin’ him’s the right move then yeah, tell him. Just don’t want him any moodier than he’s been the last six months or I swear to Chuck, I will kick every inch of his grumpy ass on principle alone.”

Dean looked conflicted, rubbed his hand along the back of his head. “I dunno,” he muttered. “If it were us, I think I’d wanna know there was a chance, right? Back…” He swallowed. “When I got back from Hell, I was terrified of bein’ alone with you, especially after you shut down talking about it until we got back. Thought that meant… As long as we didn’t talk, there was a chance it wasn’t over.”

Faith softened and kissed him again. “Well, that ain’t what happened.”

“I know. So Sammy—”

“Think we got a special clause with the soulmate thing.”

“We don’t know that they’re not soulmates. Ain’t that the reason we decided I was a dick after you died?”

“Yeah, but Dawn wasn’t dead—just gone. And what are the fucking odds that that both of you soulmate-up? That it be _Dawn_ , someone I’ve known for years?”

“Honestly, that sounds about right with the sorta shit Chuck would pull.” But she could see he didn’t really believe it. He wanted to believe it the same way she’d want to believe it for her brother.

But Chuck had said a lot more besides, the kinda things that, were it true for Sam and Dawn, would’ve made the past few months impossible. Sam would have likely taken off by now to find her if they were soulmates, and Dawn definitely wouldn’t be boning someone else. The times she and Dean had been near other people had not been fun for either of them—he’d later told her he’d had a hard time getting it up with the skank who’d offered to blow him at that dhamp’s club and the disgust she’d felt at being pawed over by the dhamp in question had been a bit too strong to be on principle alone. Thankfully, that had been right before they’d decided to just bang it out exclusively until one or both of them got bored with it, so they hadn’t pushed it further to see if they could actually fuck other people. But the way Faith had felt then, she was gonna say no, and it would’ve pissed her off. Would’ve pissed him off, too, but they hadn’t known.

She never would’ve thought she’d be a one-man woman, but that was how it had fallen and she wouldn’t change a thing.

“All right, so you gotta point,” he said a moment later. “But I still say he deserves to know.”

Faith brought her hands up and stepped back. “Keepin’ my monkeys away from this circus, then. Gonna go grab Angel’s soul to get this show on the road.”

“He ain’t gonna be no help,” Dean said. “You know that, right?”

“Probably not, but can’t hurt to try.”

*~*~*

“Pick up, pick up, pick up…”

Dawn tossed a glance at the door to her room. _Her room._ A room that hadn’t been hers in six months but still somehow felt more like home than any of the places she’d stayed in the time between. Which really said a lot, considering she’d barely been a resident of the bunker at all, but it had been the place she could remember being the happiest, which made being here its own kind of hell.

“Hello?”

“Buffy!” Dawn could cry with relief. “Buffy, you have to come home. Now.”

“Wait, huh? Hold on.” There was a shuffling sound, then Buffy came back, louder this time. “Dawn? _Home_? You mean—”

“I’m at the bunker. Daniel and me. We don’t know how long we’re going to be here.”

A pause. “You brought _Daniel_ to the bunker? Why?”

“We were trailing this group of demons and… It’s not important. I thought we’d be here for maybe a few hours but now Daniel thinks he can crack the Angel orb and he wants to stay.” Dawn’s breaths were coming harsher now, tears stinging her eyes. “And Sam’s here.”

“Well, of course Sam’s there. It’s his home, isn’t it?”

“Buffy, I need you here. It’s just me and Daniel and…”

And what? _And_ she wasn’t sure she could fake being his girlfriend anymore? _And_ she’d gotten herself in over her head? _And_ she didn’t think she could stand to be around Sam without giving the whole game away? Never mind she was toying with the feelings of a really good guy—a guy who hadn’t broken her heart and, wonder of wonders, seemed to actually love her. A guy she hoped would stay nice and preoccupied for the next few hours so she could get her shit together because she wasn’t sure that she had enough inside her at the moment to fake it.

The second they were on the road again, though, and she was a safe distance away from Sam…

“Buffy,” she said again, her voice barely above a whisper. “Please. I need you home.”

A deep rumble in the background, the unmistakable tenor of Spike’s voice.

“We’re on our way,” her sister replied with a sigh. “I don’t know what you think we can do by being there. I already told Sam I’d kill him if he hurt you again and that’s about as dark side as I get.”

“I just need someone here who knows,” Dawn replied. “I’m faking it so hard I think I might crack.”

“We’re in New England right now,” Buffy said. “We’ll start back tomorrow. It was about time for us to come back anyway. Do you think you can hold on for another day?”

The roar of Daniel’s laugh, boisterous and unmistakable, echoed from down the hall, and Dawn’s gut clenched.

“I think so.”

All she had to do was avoid the guy she was sleeping with and the guy she used to sleep with in this space they were all sharing.

Piece of cake.


	7. Chapter 7

“It’s not his fault.”

Dean didn’t bother looking back at her as he yanked on a pair of jeans he’d just snagged off the closet hanger. All the days he’d spent anticipating and planning for his first Halloween with a girlfriend had gone to shit—the costumes, the party, the fun and the night of carefree erotic cosplay with a kinky public twist.

“You can blame him if you wanna, but the dude did nothing wrong but show up when we needed help and saved Sammy’s ass. And it’s not his fault that he’s dating Sam’s love interest. Your brother flubbed his dub way before that.”

His response was to grunt and shrug on a random black tee. All his jollies were officially gone and he just wanted to get the stupid thing over. Daniel and the Giant Orb wasn’t the show he’d wanted to watch tonight.

“Hey!” Faith snapped before giving what only she and a slayer could constitute as a light punch to the shoulder.

“Fuck!” he gasped as he rubbed his arm. “We talked about doing that when I’m not looking!”

“Yeah,” she said with the tone of apology before pressing on. “You’re going douche on me, Ducky. Mad at Daniel. Mad at me. Mad at—”

“What?” he interrupted before shaking his head. “Baby, I ain’t mad at you.”

She reached out and grasped his wrist. Nobody had actually noticed the small black cat tattoo he’d gotten a few months back due to it usually being hidden by his watchband. Faith had chosen the spot because it was right along a major pulse point and was an unspoken message that she was as much his as he was hers. That and he had refused to let the tattoo artist ink his pelvis.

Slipping her thumb under the leather strap, she caressed the mark. “Ducky.”

He released a harsh sigh and gave into temptation as he took a step forward. Honestly, it was dirty warfare—somehow every single time she touched the tattoo he turned into a pussy-whipped boy. She knew she had this power and enjoyed it too much. “I’m _mad_ …because Halloween sucked.”

Dean wasn’t surprised when she snickered back at his pouty confession. “God,” she giggled as she pressed herself against him. “Dean Winchester.”

He wrapped his free arm around her and held her tight, burying his face down in her neck and breathing her in. “This would be hotter if you still had on your costume,” he murmured against her throat.

“It’d be hotter if we didn’t have anything on,” she muttered back as her free hand came up to lightly caress his nape.

He nipped her playfully. “I’m down.”

“Shhh, don’t get me warm and squishy. We got adulting to do.”

Dean moaned as her nails gently scraped along his scalp. “I can make you warm and squishy in very adult ways, Fay.”

“I know.” She pulled back enough to force him to look at her. “We good? You good?”

“Yeah.” As much as he wanted to salvage the night with a long, sweaty dance between the sheets with his kitty, he knew that would have to wait until another long and disappointing bout of trying to break the Angel soul piñata.

“Maybe this Danny boy’s got more than a dick and a pretty face,” Faith said as she pulled back and gave his wrist one last little squeeze before letting go.

“Cass just got back with those books,” he said in reminder. “We give ‘em a few more days and then we can start tracking Angel down. Okay?”

“But if we get a breakthrough now…”

Fuck, he loved her spirit. And he knew how much this whole thing had been eating at her the last few months. He just hated watching her get all revved up thinking they were about to solve the puzzle keeping the vampire’s soul locked and out of commission only to be shut down and kicked back to the start of the maze. “Don’t,” Dean softly warned. “Don’t do the Great Pumpkin routine, Linus. It’s a long shot and you gotta realize it’s a long shot or—“

“Or what?” she demanded. “We give up? Or we keep spinning our wheels?”

He sighed and shook his head. “Or you get really moody and I get the brunt of it.” He held up a hand when he saw her open her mouth to read him the riot act. “Which is cool. Fuck knows you get more of mine that I of yours. I’m just saying…I don’t like seeing you get your hopes all up and then watching them crash.”

“You _know_ what this means to me, Ducky.”

“I do,” he said with a solemn nod. “Out there I throw my shots around like I ain’t down with this whole Angel plan. I play up the idea I’m jealous or petty or both. You and I are keeping the soulmate thing under wraps and with that I stay cool on how much he means to you as a friend and the guy who saved your life. I can’t go around being so insightful or go around telling everybody how much I wanna find and save this dude for you and for the fact that I wouldn’t mind thanking him myself.”

The fire died in her eyes. “So what?”

He offered a crooked grin. “So realize this isn’t gonna be a Halloween miracle. So remember that this isn’t our last shot and put all your hopes on Dawn’s new boy toy. So don’t start acting like said boy toy is the best thing since sliced bread even if he is only a piece of the loaf carbing up Sammy. And for the love of all things Ducky, don’t waste all night on a goose chase because I _really_ wanna tie you up with that whip and do naughty things to you.”

“You done?” Her tone was rough, but her eyes were filled with softness.

“No,” he snapped before offering a boyish grin. “I love you.”

“Shut up,” she huffed before marching forward to give him one last kiss. As she eventually pulled away, she had to chuckle. “You wanna use it on me?”

Dean just waggled his brows and turned to the door. “Be careful, Kitty. Don’t get too warm and squishy now.” Opening it, he gestured for her to go first.

“I’m just wondering if you can handle that kind of equipment,” she teased as she sauntered out.

He gave her a hard smack on the ass as she passed him. “I think we both know I can handle a lot more than a little leather.”

“Are you sure about that?” she called over her shoulder.

“You need me to prove it?”

“Maybe.”

Halloween might have been ruined, but he still felt like the luckiest son of a bitch. Not that he was gonna tell her that—at least not until he was done with the whip.

*~*~*

Running a presidential campaign was tough. Coordinating a campaign when the candidate was still actively employed as the governor of a state as big and important as California was a logistical nightmare. A campaign with two other contenders including an active Vice President and a party a little put out about waiting so long to jump into the race was nobody’s idea of an easy race to the nomination.

Sam and his Magical Mistress Tour would put Josh into an early grave. He’d really thought fatherhood was going to be the most difficult and trying achievement of his life, but barring his son turning to a life of crime, he was reasonably certain Sam Seaborn making it to next November without imploding—or his secret fiancée exploding anything—would take an act from God himself.

_Chuck_. He kept forgetting that he preferred Chuck. Forgetting or trying desperately to remember a world before he had encountered witches and cosmic entities and vampires and demons and slayers. Kinda like a world before Willow.

Since no one had taught him how to turn back time, Josh pushed on and took a quick break running around to snatch a couple of crab puffs and a glass of champagne from one of the roving servers. He was starving and exhausted and already stressed before they even had started really blanketing Iowa and New Hampshire with Sam Seaborn campaign trips. Since Donna was currently upstairs with the boys, he’d slip on his healthy eating plan and shovel in as many hors d’eaves as he could.

“Looking good, J,” came a voice behind him.

Having just stuffed both puffs in his mouth, he turned around with chipmunk cheeks and an inability to talk. His shock at seeing Amy Gardner quickly morphed into a need to hurry up and chew.

“Well, truthfully you looked better from behind,” she teased.

He took in a big swig of champagne to wash the food down and cleared his throat. “What are you doing here?”

“Wow. Nice manners,” she dryly retorted.

“I thought you were cozying up to Baker.”

She rolled her eyes and stepped forward to take the glass from his hand and drain the contents. “He’s the current Vice President.”

“Huh,” he sarcastically quipped after she tried to pass him back the empty flute. “I guess I forgot how I got him that job.”

“He’s the frontrunner.”

“According to him.”

“According to a lot of people, Josh.”

“Yeah, and I remember them saying that about Bingo Bob here a few years back.”

“Sam’s gaining a lot of momentum. Angie Barger bought this ticket and then couldn’t come. She called and I took her spot.”

Now that Josh figured out what was up, he was much more relieved. If Amy hadn’t come on her dime with an agenda he might get off with nothing more than this little awkward conversation. “So how you doing?” he asked casually as he scoped out the location of more food and drink.

“Good. Hearing a few rumors.”

Josh rolled his eyes. While he’d play it blasé, he dreaded that Willow might have already made a mess of things. “Sam’s not looking for anyone, but I’ll tell him you’re interested.”

“About you.” When he gave her a surprised look, she continued. “And maybe Sam.”

He arched his eyebrows and smirked. “While he and I both are accepting of the lifestyle, we aren’t—”

Amy held up a hand. “Some are saying your breakdown a few months back wasn’t exhaustion. You lost your grip with reality because you found out your long-time girlfriend got knocked up by the governor of California.”

He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to or not but he broke out in a fit of giggles. In actuality, the reality was more absurd and ridiculous. But this was just downright funny.

“Kinda fits with the way she quit and ran to California and then you left for California and now you guys are one big happy family living together.”

His laughter died down when he realized she was serious. “I thought this was a joke. You aren’t joking?”

Amy shrugged. “People are saying—”

“Stupid people.”

“That Sam may have some fidelity issues.”

“And he secretly fathered my child?” Now he was beginning to get offended.

“Well, he is a lot hotter than you.”

He was all the way offended. “You slept with me! A lot!”

Cue in the worst entrance in all entrances as another familiar voice came up from behind to startle the shit out of him. “You can have him if you really want him.”

“ _Jesus_!” Josh hissed as he turned around. Donna was giving him a glare that said he was about as far from a happy ending tonight as a boy could get. “And I was emphasizing that only because she was telling me a fascinating story about how you and Sam are secret lovers because I’m not hot as Sam.”

Donna shrugged and stepped up by his side. “He _is_ more physically attractive.”

He scowled at her. “She’s serious.”

Now it was Donna’s turn to look off guard. She eyed Amy. “You are?”

“I just said people are suggesting you guys came out to California to cover it up. Also why the other baby momma isn’t in the picture.”

Donna blinked a few times but kept herself from laughing or possibly slapping Amy for accusing her of an elaborate scheme of sluttiness. “Well, that’s stupid. And easily refutable. One DNA test and a couple of Josh’s baby pics clears that up before it can even become an issue.”

“Yeah,” Amy agreed with a nod. “Just some incredibly weak gossip I’m hearing from a couple of Baker’s boys. I thought it was more funny than anything.”

“You didn’t funny it when you told me,” Josh snapped. “You were accusing.”

Amy grinned as she turned her focus solely on Donna. “You look good.”

“You too,” Donna said with a smile.

“Can’t believe you settled. He’s obnoxious and gullible.”

“Somehow I find both qualities attractive. I really should talk to a professional about it.”

Josh was not amused. “Neither one of you is funny, just for the record.”

“We’re hilarious,” Donna said before leaning over and giving him a quick peck on the lips. “Toby’s upstairs with the boys. He’s calling Huck and Molly to ask about their trick or treating. And you taste like crab puffs.”

“Shut it,” he muttered in defeat. He looked back at Amy. “Thanks for the head’s up. If it starts growing traction, we’ll do the DNA thing and clear it up.”

“I’m almost _positive_ he’s the father,” Donna joked.

“Again with the not funny,” Josh quipped.

“Again with the hilarious,” Donna said in kind. “Now let’s go find you a salad.”

“Let’s go find _you_ a…” He shrugged after a moment. “Nothing. I got nothing.”

Yeah, there was no way he was gonna get Sam elected at this rate.

*~*~*

Maybe he was right. The thought alone made her nauseous. That was a lie. Faith was pretty sure she was queasy because it was approaching midnight and all she’d eaten was some microwaved pizza rolls sometime around lunch. She still didn’t like the idea that Dean had likely been right about this all being a waste of time, but she wasn’t gonna admit it no matter what he did to her with that whip later.

It had been close to an hour since they’d all gathered around the table to gawk at the orb containing Angel’s soul. It had all been spent listing off everything that hadn’t worked. Sometime in the first twenty minutes, Ro had left with Mary to go back out and patrol. Sabrina, Cass, and Giles had been trading off turns talking ever since about failed theories and spells and general bullshit that they as well as Rowena and Willow had tried since the last apocalypse. Dean had ditched her ten minutes ago and Dawnie’s eyes were so glazed over she thought the girl might have died of boredom.

She was so frustrated she thought she’d go back to launching the glass ball against the wall—a strategy that hadn’t worked any of the times she’d done it before. Running over it with a car and smashing it with a battery of weapons had also produced no results.

“We just found a few texts that were with a coven in Syria,” Sabrina stated. “Castiel just returned with them so we haven’t had much time to begin translating.”

“They are in ancient Sumerian,” Cass explained as he looked to Daniel. “You don’t happen to be fluent in Sumerian, perchance?”

Daniel’s eyes went wide. “Uhh…no.”

“Of course,” Faith grumbled as she smacked the table. Leaning back in her chair with a sigh, she folded her arms. “Because we wouldn’t want this to be easy or anything.”

Giles shot her a sympathetic look that only fueled her irritation. “Nobody expected Crowley to take a shortcut. As King of Hell, he has access to virtually every language and spell in existence.”

“We have also been trying to locate him, but that has proven to be—”

“A fucking nightmare,” Dean finished as he walked back into the room. “He ain’t nowhere topside and rumors from the lackeys are he ain’t showing his face sub-level either.”

“Wait,” Daniel said with a scowl. “I thought King of Hell was a euphemism. You’re saying this guy is actually the ruler of Hell?”

“Dean and him are old drinking buddies,” Dawn commented as she had awakened from her comatose.

Ducky gave a humorless chuckle. “Long story. You can save it for the pillow talk, Summers.” He then plopped into the chair he’d abandoned next to Faith and sat down a plate with a couple of sandwiches and a ginormous bowl of cereal with two spoons.

One of the many things she loved about Dean was the way he was nonchalant with sweetness—at least when others were around. While alone he might get a little cheesy—which again she loved—he wasn’t a show-off about romance or PDAs. The fact he’d chosen Crunch Berries over Cocoa Puffs was a sweet move only she’d notice. The way he’d made peanut butter and honey instead of jelly was a total Ducky signal that he loved her and was putting her first. Shit nobody else at the table noticed.

She reached under the table and gave his thigh a gentle squeeze before snatching up and devouring a sandwich in about three giant bites.

“I would say our best course of action would be to look together at the Sumerian texts,” Giles declared.

“Tonight?” Dawn asked dejectedly. “Now?”

Sabrina shrugged. “You two can go anytime. We normally stay up until after the bar closes and everyone is in the bunker for the night.”

Once the peanut butter glue was gone, Faith added, “Y’all can crash here if you wanna. Might save time if you’re down for a research party.”

She felt Dean firmly grasp her knee before pinching the skin just above it. That had probably been a decision they should have discussed before she’d thrown it on the table, but her impulsiveness was being fueled by frustration at the moment. If Daniel was as smart as he claimed to be, he needed to start showing it.

“That’d be great! Thanks!” The guy had an enthusiasm that hadn’t spread over to his girlfriend. If anything, Dawn looked horrorstruck. “Let’s get cracking!”

Dean’s right hand kept place on her left knee for the duration it took for Sabrina to conjure the books from her bedroom. Then as Daniel and the academics began dividing up the texts, his hand began creeping up her thigh until it was gently kneading her at the top.

“You need something?” she murmured as she leaned over to take a bite of cereal.

“I’m good,” he muttered as he dipped his fingers down between her thighs. “Or bad.”

She bit her lip to avoid giving him any satisfaction and turned her attention back to the others as Dawn excused herself to go get some drinks.

“Here,” Sabrina said sliding a book over at the exact moment Dean turned his hand to palm her pussy.

“Oh!” she gasped in surprise more to the latter. “Thanks.”

“Welcome,” Dean whispered as his hand started playing her through the fabric.

A good girl would have pushed him back. She certainly wouldn’t have spread her legs to give him better access to her suddenly very warm and squishy zone. Truth was she wanted to save Angel and that was the priority at the moment.

But Faith was apparently a bad, bad girl.

She cracked open the book and did her best to ignore what Ducky’s fingers were doing to her both inside and out. She might have had a fighting chance had the book she was looking at been in fucking English. Instead, she was staring down at a page of gibberish and trying to not notice the fact that he was rubbing her slit and dampening her panties. “We got a decoder or something?” she asked a hair more aggressively than intended.

“I’ve been working on a translation spell,” Sabrina responded. “Gimme a couple of minutes.”

When Dawn came back with a handful of beers, Dean pulled back to Faith’s relief. But just as the girl sat down, he moved and slipped his hand down the waistbands of both pants and panties and cupped her bare pussy in his hand.

“ _Fuck_!” she gasped as her hips involuntarily thrust forward at his touch.

“Be patient,” Sabrina grumbled.

“Yeah,” Dean teased. “Be patient.”

When she gripped his arm, she’d intended to yank him from her pants, but then he slipped his wicked digit between her folds and began tapping her clit with feather-like pressure. Then her hand tightened around him and she did the opposite, pressing him closer to her aching body. He took the hint and began giving her more friction on her sensitive bud.

Looking at him, she was kinda amazed at how well he was playing his part. Other than a brief lusty blaze that screamed in his eyes when he glanced at her, he looked just as bored as he had before he’d started fingering her.

Fuck if that didn’t make her hotter. It was killing her to keep from moaning or squirming or thrusting her hips up to make him give it to her nice and hard like she wanted it. He was torturing her with small discreet moves that would go unnoticed to everyone else.

She bit her tongue so hard she drew blood when he finally slipped two fingers inside her soaking flesh. It took everything to not gasp as he began a slow thrust in and out of her tight hole. When alone, she’d have control by now and her Ducky knew it. He was having fun holding all the power and she was a very dirty girl for loving it.

She had never been the kinda girl to get off on the whole voyeurism thing—she might do it in a public place, but _never_ where there were people who could actually see the show. And that wasn’t what was getting her off now. It was the fact that her Ducky was touching her—fucking her—and nobody knew it but them. The idea that he was literally fingering her with a straight face and for all intents and shit there was nothing she could do about it.

She was getting off and fast. She felt the tension in her body rising and knew he felt her muscles begin to tighten. Part of her thought he might stop—bringing her to the brink and then make a lame excuse to go back to the kitchen. Make her come and beg him to finish what he started.

He brought his thumb around and pressed it to her clit just as he gave her his hardest thrust yet and she exploded. Slamming her hand down, she grabbed the second sandwich and stuffed it in her mouth, closed her eyes and released a throaty moan.

“You okay?” Dawn asked.

“We only had pizza rolls for lunch,” she heard Dean answer and she knew he had to have a smirk on his face.

He slipped his fingers out and gave her one final grope before pulling out from her pants and leaving her a very warm and squishy pile of Faithyness. She concentrated on the sensation of the peanut butter and not the way her body was still humming as it came back down from orgasm.

“I got a stupid question,” Daniel said as the fog in her head slowly dissipated.

“There are no stupid questions,” Giles said.

Dean chuckled and she opened her eyes to see the motherfucker looking at her and sucking on one of the fingers that just gotten her off. The heat in his eyes as he gazed at her had her thighs clenching and begging her for the next round of action. Then, pulling the digit from his lips with a pop, he turned to Giles. “I can think of a million stupid questions. Why are hotdogs in packs of eight and the buns in ten? Why is Nick afraid of Teletubbies? Why did they try and remake _90210_?”

“Let me rephrase,” Giles said harshly. “ _Daniel_ cannot ask more stupid questions than _Dean_.”

“Right,” Daniel said with a laugh. “I heard your list and it’s been really impressive, but you left out all the basics.”

“Faith smashed it against the wall,” Castiel offered. “And ran over it with the Impala.”

Daniel nodded. “So you all covered all the overly simple charms, right? I know he’s the King of Hell and all that jazz, but what if it’s something so mundane it would go overlooked? Like a basic Shield Charm or blood hex.”

Faith looked around the table and was shocked to see Sabrina, Giles and Cass all sharing glances that said they had most certainly overlooked the basics and had driven right into the complex theories that would normally befit a guy as ancient and wicked as Crowley. Then she looked to Dean, who had lost all the smugness of a minute ago. He looked at her a mixture of disgusted and mortified. “You’re shitting me.”

A smile spread across her lips. “All hail the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown.”


	8. Chapter 8

The longer the night went on, the more Willow panicked because, yeah, that entire interview had been a shitshow from the start. Agreeing to talk to Rita freaking Skeeter, imagining that because the Quick Quotes Quill hadn’t been out that she might skate by unscathed… She didn’t know what she’d been thinking, and she certainly didn’t know how she was going to tell Sam that she’d just blown the lid on their entire _secret baby_ thing. To, well, the Wizarding World, but she, better than most, understood just how easily the two worlds could overlap.

Harry and Ginny were no help. At the moment, Harry was trying to corral a very peeved Ginny, who had gotten into an argument with the California Secretary of State on who the fictional Harry Potter should have ended up with. As it turned out, Belinda Bruins had been quite the Harry/Luna ‘shipper back in the day, and had a whole host of reasons as to why Luna was a better, more developed match for Harry than Ginny Weasley.

“Could have been worse,” Harry muttered to Willow after he just barely managed to keep Ginny from hexing the woman. “She’s touchiest when someone tries to pair me with Hermione.”

“Well, of course I am,” Ginny barked. “Not only do they think you’d be better off ditching me, they can’t do it without insulting my brother, going into all the ways he’s not good enough for her.”

Willow wisely chose to refrain from observing that Ginny herself did this at least three times a week. It was difficult, navigating Muggle spaces as the most famous wizard in the world, fictional or otherwise. Everyone had an opinion, from who had ended up with who to Harry’s decision to name one of his children after Snape. Something that, Harry would only admit after having imbibed a good amount of Fire Whiskey, he regretted every day. Though he remained eternally grateful to Snape for everything he’d done to protect him over the years, he’d also read more than one Buzzfeed article that brought to light just how horrible Snape had been, heroics aside.

“I should have named him Albus Rubeus!” Harry had told her drunkenly one night, waving her tablet in her face, a look of deepest disgust on his own. “Snape might’ve done a good thing once in his life, but the bastard still made Hermione cry that one time. The teeth engorgement episode. Hell, Willow, the only good thing about Albus’s middle name is that Severus Snape is out there somewhere knowing he’s been named after _James Potter’s_ grandson, who happens to look just like him. Ha!”

There were, however, the more toxic bits of the public Harry Potter fandom. Like people writing fanfic about Harry and Draco or, worse, Harry and Dumbledore.

“Sick. That’s what these people are,” Harry had all but shouted when he’d found out. “Sick!”

At the moment, though, he was doing his best to maintain composure, if only for Ginny’s sake.

“Come on, Gin,” he said soothingly. “It’s a laugh, is all.”

“A laugh for _you_ ,” Ginny replied, her tone scathing. “These Muggles have never even met me and they try to shuck me off. And how can they be fans of the bloody series and try to pair Hermione with _Malfoy_?” She expressed her disgust by shivering hard. “This woman likes Harry with Luna, Hermione with Malfoy, and Ron with Hannah Abbott, of all the ridiculous things. I bet she wrote some of that disgusting Fred/George stuff, too. And she’s the bloody Secretary of State for the whole of California? Ooh, I’ll get her.”

“No, you won’t,” Willow said firmly. “The International Statute of Secrecy—”

“Oh, sod the International Statute. I’m tired of being called a Mary Sue.”

“Can we focus on the actual crisis, please?” Willow demanded, seizing Ginny hard by the arm. “Rita Skeeter—”

“Oh shove off about Rita bloody Skeeter!” Ginny snapped, much too loudly from the looks of neighboring partygoers threw their way. “All you had to do was keep your big trap shut and I’m sorry if it’s not an international emergency that you couldn’t manage.”

“Ginny!” Harry yanked the drink out of his wife’s hand, tossed back a mouthful, then passed the glass to Willow. “Come on. We’re going to go sober you up a bit.”

“Yes, please do,” Willow muttered, catching Josh’s glare from across the room. “I think I’m about to be scolded.”

Harry had ushered Ginny away the next minute, just in time to avoid being descended upon by Josh. Though it was the last thing she wanted to do, Willow thought the better option was simply to bite the bullet and be upfront rather than hope Josh never discovered that another witch had been on the premises tonight.

“We have a thing,” Josh announced. “Probably not a big thing, but you might be hearing some stuff.”

“I talked to a reporter,” Willow blurted at the same time.

The urgency faded from Josh’s eyes almost at once, traded for the more familiar annoyance. “You _what_?”

“A-a reporter. For the _Daily Prophet_.”

“The…huh? Is that a tabloid?” Josh scrubbed a hand down his face. “Who let a goddamn _tabloid reporter_ into this party? Or _any_ type of reporter, for that matter? And you’re telling me you were stupid enough to talk to them? Oh god, what did you say?”

Willow had the urge to hex Josh into silence, which likely wouldn’t endear her to him, but would go a long way in making her feel better. “The _Prophet_ is a British paper. _Magical_ , not Muggle. The reporter in question is Rita Skeeter.”

“Rita who?”

“She’s as good as a tabloid reporter, to be honest, all the stuff she wrote about Harry and Hermione and Dumbledore.” Willow frowned, then waved at Josh’s confused expression. “Point is, she’s not one of _your_ reporters.”

Josh deflated a bit. “Oh. Well, that’s good then.”

“But that doesn’t mean she won’t be able to get stuff in the Muggle press just to stir up trouble.”

The annoyance was back again, accompanied this time by trepidation. “What did you do?”

Willow felt herself go hot. “I… Well, I might have…admitted to being Oz’s mother.”

Josh didn’t do anything—just stared at her.

“Josh?”

“You admitted to a _reporter_ that you had the Governor of California’s lovechild?” More staring, then he barked a laugh. It wasn’t a nice sound, rather clipped and hard, and did a great deal to make her feel all of three inches tall. “Are you stupid?”

“Honestly, at this point, I think I might be.” Willow pressed the heel of her palm against her brow. “I have no idea if Rita’s article will get back to Muggle reporters, but it’s a possibility and…and I thought you should know just so you’d be prepared.”

“How magnanimous of you.”

“Josh—”

“There are rumors going around that Sam is Leo’s father, apparently.”

Willow blinked, whiplashed. “What?”

“Yeah, Amy Gardner decided to let that slip.”

“Amy your ex-girlfriend Amy?”

“Unless you know of another, and please, don’t know of another.”

“And she wasn’t kidding?”

“Apparently not, no. Donna moved across the country with a bun in the oven and now we’re all living at the governor’s mansion and honestly, as I say this aloud, I’m a little ashamed of the American press corps that it took them this long to come up with something this inventive.”

“So…the rumor is you’re all a triad or something?”

“Please never say that again.” Josh pressed his hands together in a gesture of supplication she knew better than to take seriously. “Just tell me that if someone accuses Sam of being Leo’s father, you’re not going to immediately go Wicked Witch of the West Coast and turn them into a toad or something.”

Willow rolled her eyes. “I have more control than that.”

Josh just looked at her.

“Well,” she added a moment later, wiggling, “I do.”

“We’ll see.” Josh turned to survey the crowd, then paled. “Why is Ginny Potter arguing with the Secretary of State?”

Willow followed his gaze, her heart sinking. “Oh no.”

“What?”

“You should just…go over there before wands come out.”

She was quite certain Josh Lyman had never moved so fast in his life.

*~*~*

Turned out the kid knew what he was doing. After assuring everyone that the most common spells were the easiest to overlook—ignoring the fact that he’d said he’d been sure they wouldn’t have been dumb enough to do just that—Daniel, alongside Sabrina and Cass, had removed the warding protecting Angel’s soul. Just like that, presto fucking change-o.

“What now?” Daniel asked excitedly, staring at the orb. “How do we return the soul?”

“We have to find the vamp first,” Faith said and turned to Dean, whose face had been pinched into a scowl ever since Daniel’s stroke of genius. “It’s usually Willow who does the actual mojo, but I’m guessin’ Rowena could work the curse just as good.”

Dean nodded numbly to show he’d heard but didn’t say anything.

“I can do it,” Cass volunteered in his usual dry voice. “There is no need for a curse—I can physically implant the soul into the vampire’s body.”

Well, hot damn. Looked like her wayward bestie was about to regain access to his dick. It was the least she could do, insisting on stuffing a soul back inside him after he’d spent so many years of running around unchecked as Angelus. The road to recovery was going to be a long one; thankfully, she knew all the stops.

“You can just _put_ Angel’s soul back in his body?” Dawn asked, bewildered. When the angel nodded, she turned to Faith. “Good thing we didn’t know that the first time around, otherwise I’d be stuck with the world’s dullest brother-in-law.”

That seemed to snap Dean out of his funk. He shook his head and glanced at Faith. “What’s this?”

“Angel was cursed with a soul,” Faith explained. “He killed the wrong person and got on the wrong people’s shit list.”

“Yeah, I knew that.”

“Well, there’s an escape clause for the soul,” Dawn explained. “Or there was. That’s how he got loose the first time—he and Buffy bumped uglies and he had a _moment of perfect happiness_. The soul went bye-bye.”

Dean looked like he was fighting a grin. Hell, she _knew_ he was fighting a grin, and that the only reason he was fighting at all was because he loved her. “So,” he said in a voice tinged with laughter, “Angel…can’t bone?”

“I believe the point is he will be able to resume activities such as fornication once I have implanted the soul, bypassing the original curse,” Castiel intoned. “And that he and Buffy Summers would still be an item if they had learned—”

“Please don’t say that,” Dawn said, making a face.

Cass frowned. “You were the one who made the observation. I was simply clarifying.”

“Well don’t say it around Spike, or he’ll rip out your ribcage.”

Daniel shifted somewhat uneasily. “Charming guy, your brother-in-law. And he’s a vamp I _can’t_ put down?”

Dawn reached over and patted her boyfriend’s hand in a way that communicated, at least somewhat, genuine affection on her behalf. “Unless you’re looking to die a quick and bloody death, I’d say no.”

“The fact that Spike and Buffy are a mated vampire couple suggests that whatever relationship she had with Angel was doomed from the offset,” Castiel added. “Vampiric mating is an outdated institution, and frequently unstable if made between those who are not already extraordinarily compatible. It is not uncommon for them to fall apart given the strain of time.”

Dawn blinked. “I… What? I didn’t know this.”

Castiel nodded. “The fact that they remain a mated pair and have as long as they have, with the bond they share, strongly indicates they might have been soulmates.”

Faith jumped a little at the term. Dean looked at her out of the corner of his eye but didn’t otherwise react.

There was a long pause before Daniel busted out a laugh. “Naw, this is where I draw the line.” He laughed again, shaking his head. “Now you’re telling me _soulmates_ are a thing?”

“Quite rare but yes.” Castiel seemed a bit confused as to what exactly was so funny. When Daniel didn’t enlighten him, he refocused on Dawn. “Soulmates are the perfect complement to the other. Rare, as I said, for a variety of reasons, most being that they are born in places or times far from the other. In your sister’s case, it would be that her intended soul-half was born more than a century before she was, dramatically reducing the likelihood that they would ever cross paths. However, Spike’s slayer-fixation in particular, prior to meeting your sister, would lend itself to the idea that he was searching for his other half and stopped searching once he found her.”

“But Spike doesn’t have a soul,” Dawn blurted, elbowing Daniel, who was still sniggering. “How does a _soulmate_ figure into that?”

“There is much about vampires and their relationships with souls that remains unknown,” Castiel said with a stiff, very Cass-like shrug. “By all accounts, Spike retained a great deal of humanity when he was turned, and even without a soul, he would recognize the call of his other half on some level. That he was moved to unite them through a claim itself is odd, as this practice has fallen out of favor with most vampires for the reasons I described. A claim without substance is impossible to sustain.”

Dawn just stared at him another moment, blinking. Then she gave her head a shake and met Faith’s eyes again, her own dancing. She looked, at that moment, like the Dawn Faith remembered from six months ago—after the petty shit had been behind them and they’d individually declared a truce. “Good Chuck, we can’t tell either of them any of this, you know,” she said.

Faith frowned. “Why not?”

“Can you _imagine_? Spike’s ego is already inflated times a million. Tell him that he and Buffy were _destined_ or _fated_ and he’ll become even more obnoxious. And I love him, but that’s…” Dawn laughed again and shook her head. “Be like if you and Dean figured out you were soulmates, only worse because we’d literally never hear the end of it.”

Castiel nodded, which would have pissed her off if he hadn’t said, “It is statistically unlikely that more than one mated pairing would be in the same location at any given time, rare as soulmates are. I do not see this being an issue.”

“Well, duh,” Dawn drawled, rolling her eyes. “I was just saying, as obnoxious as they are now, can you imagine how they’d be if they found out they were literally each other’s other half?”

“Dawn, why don’t you knock it?” Faith snapped, being very careful not to look at Dean. She didn’t care for this line of conversation at all and had fuck all idea how they’d ever landed on the subject.

“Soulmates don’t exist!” erupted from the man at her left. And this time, Faith had no choice but to look at him. God love Ducky, but he had the worst poker face of all fucking time. At the moment, his eyes were wide and panic-stricken, his skin paler than she’d ever seen it.

Castiel frowned. “I assure you, Dean, they do.”

“No. I mean…that’s crazy!” He laughed a hard, bark-like laugh. “Ain’t nobody around here fucking soulmates!” This he decided to emphasize by leaping to his feet and gesturing at the group around the table as though that alone was a point. “Vampire claims are a _choice_. Soulmates would be like destined or fated or chosen by a dude named Jeb!”

His voice had reached a cringey, Veritaserum-like pitch.

_Oh good fuck._

“Did you say Jeb?” Cass asked, frowning deeper still.

Dean blinked at him, the proverbial deer in headlights. “I dunno what I’m saying!” He swung his head around and set those panicked eyes of his on her.

“What the fuck, Ducky?” she mouthed.

“Help me!” he mouthed back.

Right. Dean was not the one who did the _under pressure_ thing well, which again made it a fucking miracle he hadn’t gotten his ass permanently killed. Faith shook her head to focus, looked around the room for a distraction, then almost sighed in relief when her gaze landed on the orb. “Brina,” she said loudly, “you think you can help GPS Angel’s whereabouts?”

Sabrina, who looked a bit dazed in having attempted to follow the conversation, gave her head a shake. “What?”

“So we can find him and get to shoving this sucker back in.”

“I… I dunno.” Sabrina frowned, studying the orb now. “Actually, I do know, and no. That sort of magic isn’t my kind. It’s more Willow’s kind. Or Rowena’s.”

Faith shot to her feet. “Then we call Rowena in the AM. In the meantime, I’m bushed. Good work, Danny boy.”

“That’s me, isn’t it?” Daniel stage-whispered.

“Afraid so,” Dawn replied.

“I’ve been called worse.”

Faith was well on her way to the room she shared with Dean when she heard Daniel ask about the accommodations, and Sabrina offered to guide them to Dawn’s old room.

That was gonna make for one hell of an awkward breakfast in the morning.

She stepped into their bedroom, trying to figure out how to delicately tell her ducky that he had lot the plot entirely when he stormed in past her, slammed the door shut and leaned back against it, breathing hard.

“That was close,” he said, flashing her a grin.

Faith was pretty sure if she didn’t love the asshole, this would’ve been the moment she kicked him through the door. “Close?” she echoed. “Wanna recap on how badly you lost your shit?”

The grin faded into a wince as he nodded and dragged a hand down his face. “I know. Shit, I just…wasn’t expecting freakin’ soulmate talk to come up like that. I mean, what are the odds?”

“Well, when talkin’ souls and B’s ex, maybe pretty damn good.”

“Apparently.”

“I tell you, Ducky, there are times I just don’t get you. You literally lie to people all day every day, play dress up and flash badges and shit. Why’s it you can’t manage two fucking seconds when someone like mini-B makes a joke literally no one would notice?”

Dean’s eyebrows winged upward. “You wanna scold me a little harder, Fay? Why don’t you take out that whip?”

“Don’t think I ain’t tempted,” she snapped. “Seriously—”

“Because when I say shit on a case, it’s about a case! It ain’t about you or me or us.” Dean threw up his hands and pushed himself off the door. “And even with the exes, it wasn’t like this.” He gestured between them. “It wasn’t _soulmate_ stuff or anywhere near it. I wanna protect you—protect _us_ —as long as I can, and that it matters beyond a case or something I can gank gets all in my head and I’m…” He trailed off, apparently at a loss for what he was, and dragged his suddenly mopey ass toward the bed, where he sank in defeat. “I need to get my shit together.”

Well, damn. Hard to remain annoyed with the boy when he got all sulky because of her. Specifically wanting to protect her which, in itself, would’ve been hilarious if it were about anything else. The soulmate business was tricky to navigate on its own and she wanted to protect it, too.

They could work on Dean keeping his cool later, she decided.

“You were a bad ducky,” she informed him, approaching the place where she’d dumped her costume from earlier. The whip sat there atop the clothing pile, coiled like a snake.

“I know. I’ll work on it. I’m sorry, I just…panicked.”

“No, I mean earlier.” She drew the whip up and turned around, flashing a smile when she saw his eyes darken. “Kitty’s not supposed to be stroked in public.”

He studied her for a moment before his trademark cocky grin spread across his lips. “Way Kitty was arching and purring tells a different story.”

Faith raised an eyebrow.

“Can’t tell me you didn’t love it.”

“Bit reckless.”

“We almost fucked at Rosa Lee’s once—would have, if I hadn’t gotten distracted.” He ran his eyes up and down her, then lingered at the belt. “You gonna punish me?”

“You wanna be punished?”

He rose to his feet with that old Dean Winchester swagger. “Like you said, I have been a very bad ducky.”

Faith tilted her head, smirked at him, then cracked the whip hard and watched as it coiled around his waist. Nifty trick. Dean had time to look down and blink before she leveraged her considerable strength to drag him across the floor until he was pressed up against her.

“Bad Ducky,” she said and nipped at his lips.

“Did you just seriously Indiana-Jones me across the room?”

“No. I Faith-fucking-Lehane’d you across the room. Don’t want you screamin’ out the wrong name.” She attacked his mouth with hers, and felt a rush of pure female power when he groaned and clutched at her. Hand cupping the back of her head, the other diving under the waistband of her slacks again. She pushed him back before he could get too far, scraping her teeth along his lower lip, then relaxed the hold on the whip so that it unfurled and he was free again.

“Give me that,” Dean said, kicking off his shoes and eyeing the whip with a particularly lusty expression.

Faith smirked again, managing to work off her top with one hand without sacrificing her grip on the whip. Thank fuck she hadn’t bothered with a bra—that’d be a bit more difficult to balance. “Come take it.”

Dean swore under his breath, stripping his jeans and boxer briefs down his legs in one fluid motion. “Don’t think I won’t. I ain’t afraid of you.”

“Yes you are,” she shot back, and, before he had the chance to move, had closed the space between them and was shoving him again, then again until he toppled back onto the bed with a bounce that showed off just how much he was enjoying this.

“No fair,” he whined, tearing off his flannel shirt. “You got super strength.”

“Hence why you’re afraid of me,” Faith retorted, shimmying out of her slacks. She decided to keep her panties in place since Dean had a thing about watching her rip them off when it was time to fuck his brains out.

“I can take whatever you got,” he said with the sort of drunken bravado that usually led to him limping around the next day. She often told herself to go easy on him when he was being particularly stupid in the ante-upping, but fuck, she was a competitive bitch and every time his mouth wrote a check, her body ached to cash it.

“Can you?” she replied kittenishly and grinned when at least a sliver of _oh shit_ leaked into Dean’s eyes.

But the boy being exceptionally hardheaded, he apparently decided not to walk that back and rather puffed out his chest as he righted himself on the mattress. “Bring it, bitch.”

Faith barked a laugh and launched herself at him, landing with slayer-perfect aim astride those muscular hips of his. While they joked he was a slow learner—and for fucking good reason—there was one area in which Dean was the model student, and that was in putting that mouth of his to use. He immediately lifted to give her breasts the proper greeting they deserved, sucking and nipping and doing things to her nipples that she swore no other guy had ever dreamed of, let alone done. Faith allowed herself a moment of pure enjoyment, writhing on his lap, against his cock, and doing a decent job of driving them both crazy.

Then she felt him reach for the whip and it was no more Miss Nice Slayer. Faith braced her hands on his chest and shoved him back hard enough the bed thumped, then captured one of his wrists in her fist.

“Bad duckies,” she said, looping the tail of the whip around the wrist in a knot that would do a true boy scout proud, “get their wings clipped.” She wound the leather around the other wrist, grinned again at the dumbfounded look on his face, then shoved his arms down to secure them in place above his head, tied around the headboard.

“Jesus Christ,” Dean gasped, bucking his hips. “I’ll be a bad ducky more often.”

“Don’t think you can handle more,” Faith replied, sitting back on his thighs to give him the best view. When he mewled and strained under her, she just widened her smile, rolled her head back and dragged her hands down her chest.

“Faith,” Dean growled and pulled against the whip—to no avail, poor Ducky. “Come on!”

“What?” She batted her eyes coquettishly. “I thought you could take anything I gave you. Since you were so handsy out there…” She cupped her own breasts, gave her nipples a pull, then slid a single hand down her abdomen, over the ducky tattoo inked into her skin, and under the elastic of her panties. “I think it’s fitting that you keep your hands to yourself in here.”

“Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me!” He pulled and strained harder, his chest heaving and eyes alight with lust and disbelief and just enough annoyance to get her motor running.

So she dipped a finger between her folds and gave her clit a nice solid tap. The sensation was heady, headier with Dean watching her, the warmth of his skin burning against her thighs and his cock bobbing before her. She circled herself once, twice, making sure to put some extra theatrics behind the moans that rode off her lips.

“Shit!” Dean bucked again, the headboard giving a whine. “Baby, please.”

“Mmm…” She made a show of licking her lips, undulating against him. “Dean…”

“You’re right, I was wrong. I can’t take it. Bad ducky, very bad.” He grunted and tugged harder at his wrists, but that whip was going exactly nowhere. “Come on, Faith. I need to touch you.”

“And here I thought my slow learner woulda figured that’s what you did to get punished.”

“Then I at least need to touch _me!_ ” He waggled his hips, which gave the illusion of his dick waving at her. “I’m in real pain, here!”

“Aww…” She withdrew her hand from her panties and traced the length of his cock from the base to the tip with a slick finger. “This does look awfully…swollen.”

Dean thrashed again, his jaw pulled tight and his teeth bared. “Baby, I’m dyin’.”

“You look healthy enough to me,” she replied and dipped her hand back between her legs. She gave her clit a long stroke, then impaled herself on two fingers and began to buck. “Fuck, I am _good_. Kinda forgot how much.”

“I’ve seen this video and you want your ducky.”

Faith braced her free hand on his chest to hold herself up, leaning over just far enough that the damp head of his cock skimmed across her stomach. “Got my ducky right here, don’t I?” she replied, then began to bounce the way she knew he wanted her to bounce on something else. The air filled with the wet sound of flesh meeting flesh, and while it wasn’t quite as nice as the noises she and Dean typically made together, his little whimpers and growls certainly added to the ambiance.

“Faith…for the love of god, touch me.”

All right. Maybe that was a bit too much. Faith opened her eyes and grinned down at him, taking in the scene he presented. His short hair all tussled, skin flushed, chest heaving with hard, deep breaths, and eyes so dark they practically burned. She deftly freed her hand from her panties again, keenly aware of the wet spot there at the crotch.

Dean sucked in a breath and held as she shifted again. And when she pulled the move she knew he loved, he sighed in such an obvious, melty way that she found it hard to keep from outright giggling.

“Is this what my ducky needs?” she asked, lifting herself up so that the head of his cock was notched at the mouth of her pussy.

He nodded. “Fuck yes. Faith—”

Faith impaled herself on him with a hard grunt. “Okay,” she told the ceiling, her head thrown back. “Good as I am, this is definitely an upgrade.”

“Faith.” He pulled against the bonds again, which did little more than outline the tense lines of his muscles. The skin around his wrists was pure white from the straining. “Faith, fuck me.”

She dug her fingers into his chest, rolled her hips, and winked at him. “Since you asked so nicely…”

There were definitely things she’d learned to appreciate over the past six months, things she’d never thought she’d be into, like slow, passionate lovemaking and early morning cuddles. A night or two, she’d been following up on a job and Dean hadn’t been with her—day trips that turned into overnight excursions—and she’d realized that goddamn, she didn’t sleep well anymore without him. The weight in the bed, the rhythm of his breathing, how he’d reach out and grab her when he was in the midst of deepest sleep, things that she’d never shared before with anyone had become precious. Tying a guy up and fucking his brains out was, admittedly, not on the new-to-Faith list, but that the man beneath her was Dean, the man looking up at her, bucking and telling her how good she felt, and that he loved her even when she was a bitch. Maybe especially when she was a bitch because she was a fantastic bitch and all his.

“Faith… _fuck_.” He gasped, bucking as best he could to keep up with her. “Faith, baby, squeeze me. Please.”

Faith slammed herself down on his cock one more time and began working those muscles that he’d become addicted to, and Dean went wild, thrusting up again and again until his control snapped. He threw his head back, his neck curving in a graceful arch, and emptied himself inside.

She watched him come down, panting herself, overcome with that crazy love she felt for the man. Watching him lose control was definitely among life’s little pleasures.

“Fuck. I love you.” He blinked open an eye to glare at her. “You evil bitch.”

“This evil bitch ain’t got off yet,” Faith replied, lifting herself off his cock. “So while you’re lying there…” She crawled up the length of his body until her pussy was hovering over his mouth. “You might as well put that tongue to good use.”

Dean groaned. “Gladly,” he growled, then plunged his face between her legs with a happy sound that had her legs trembling.

Faith gasped and seized his wrists to steady herself.

Damn, but he was good at this.


	9. Chapter 9

He awoke to a steady pounding that rattled him to his bones. Upon opening his eyes, Sam realized that it was literally all in his head. The room was dark and quiet and the only noise was the hammering of his pulse as it throbbed against his brain. With a groan, he rolled over and tried to once more find unconsciousness.

Slowly, but not slowly enough, memories came back to him. Halloween and the stupid party. Teletubbies and the stupid bet. Demons and the stupid fight. Dawn and the stupid boyfriend. Alcohol and the stupid life choices.

He was conflicted about whether to hide in his room and starve to death or to grab some keys and drive as far and as fast as possible. Neither would work because he was Sam fucking Winchester—Watcher and Man of Letters—and he didn’t run and hide. No, he just fucked them up until there was no chance of ever having a happy ending.

How in the _fuck_ had his brother—the brother who had gone nearly forty years without a successful relationship—suddenly found the love of his life and got his life all put together in what seemed now was a day and a half. Couple of weeks tops. All Sam knew for sure was that before Dean and Faith could easily be described as two of the most fucked of fuckups and now they were walking around all…mature seemed a bit too strong a word. Honestly, it was too early for Sam to think of an appropriate word.

Sam looked over to the clock and saw that it was four am, the time in which nobody was awake in the bunker. Typically the bar was closed by two and everyone home by three. By four in the morning, everyone was either asleep or closed off with a partner for the night. In Sam’s case, it was usually a book. Not even a dirty book. Just a boring-ass research book.

Giving up on falling asleep, he crawled out of bed and stumbled toward the door. He was most definitely sober, but incredibly hung-over stiff from the beating his body took when he was trapped in the foam monstrosity Rosalie had subjected him. Yeah, he was going to make her pay for that little gag. Faith too if he could only figure out a way.

Opening the door to the hall, Sam looked down and noticed that someone—he hoped to God it had been his brother—had stripped his pants off. Frowning down at his boxers, he sort of remembered taking his own pants off when he got hot. But the socks were still on. He didn’t understand why he’d left his socks on if he was hot.

He pondered this all the way from his room to the kitchen. Really he pondered a multitude of things—socks, training, his total humiliation the day before, why he ever drank, coffee, whether he needed to buy more toothpaste, how to break Dawn up from her boyfriend, whether he could get away with killing said boyfriend and if Sabrina had drunk all his almond milk. He was still on that last quandary when he walked over to the fridge, only absently noticing the body sitting at the kitchen table. “Hey,” he muttered before opening the door and beginning his search.

“Hey.”

It took a shameful amount of time for his brain to realize that the voice was Dawn’s. Too long for him to play it cool and turn and walk out without making the situation more awkward than it already was. Slowly, he shut the door and gave her the first head-on look since her arrival. Immediately he was struck at how beautiful she was—even in rumpled up sweats and her hair in a frazzled bun. She looked better than he had remembered. And it fucking hurt.

Swallowing hard, he glanced the room for anyone else he might have missed. “So, how’s it going?” He aimed for casual and failed so hard he winced.

Dawn made a noise close to a laugh. “Fine. You?”

“Well, yesterday was a little off, but—“

“A little?” There was a twinkle in her eye that said she was enjoying his suffering. Considering how they’d ended things, it was the least he owed her.

Scrubbing a hand down his face, he released a light chuckle. “I think the Teletubby part was karma overkill.”

“I thought the drunken singing was.”

“Or the showing up outta the blue.”

Fire flickered in her gaze. “Or saving your ass.”

He almost countered that it was Daniel that had saved him and not her, but that would force him to acknowledge the guy’s existence and he wasn’t sure he could do that in room filled with knives and still fake casual. Instead, he looked around for anything that would help him change the topic. He found it on the table. “Is that my almond milk?”

Apparently, that was the worst thing he could have said. “Are you fucking serious, Winchester?” She said hopping up from her chair. “Six months and the first thing you ask me is about your fucking almond milk?”

“I asked how it was going,” he snapped.

“Right.” She rolled her eyes.

“ _Well_?”

“Well, _what_ , Sam?”

“I know I screwed up, but come on!”

“Life’s great. Aces. Saving people, hunting things, having lots of hot, dirty sex with my hot and awesome boyfriend. You know, the family business.”

“That’s not exactly the family business.”

“I’m a Summers. You bet your ass it is.”

Sam released an exhausted sigh. “Dawnie—“

But she cut him off before he could continue. “You know what? I think I’m gonna go have some of that hot and dirty sex now. With my boyfriend. Who didn’t break up with me.”

Yeah, this was going to be hell on Earth. “Dawnie.”

“You can listen in if you want. Maybe just steal my panties after.”

He was speechless as she stormed off. Not just because of what she said, but also because he contemplated whether he could get away with either or both.

*~*~*

“Castiel.”

The next thing she remembered was being shaken awake with a discombobulating intensity. “Huh?”

“You said ‘Castiel.’”

Sabrina blinked and looked at Wesley with all the brainpower she could manage, but came up pathetically short. “Huh?”

He looked a bit comical with his wide eyes and bed-mussed hair. “You were dreaming about Castiel.”

She nodded. “I do that a lot.”

“Jesus!”

That’s when her brain finally caught up. She was torn between amused and grossed out as she shoved him hard on the shoulder. “About _research_.”

“Is _that_ —” Wes stopped himself and shook his head. “It’s you and Castiel so of _course_ it’s actually research.”

She snorted and relaxed into her pillow. “Now that we figured out the orb, we have to locate Angelus.”

“And you do that is your sleep?” His tone sounded more bemused than annoyed.

“I’m dedicated.”

“Not exactly the way I would describe you.”

She arched a brow. “Brave words for the guy whose girlfriend was just dreaming of other men.”

Now it was his turn to pay her back with a playful smack on the arm. “Go ahead. Faith spoke highly of his skills.”

“Sorry, I only limit myself to one of her sloppy seconds and I called dibs on you.” With that, she leaned over and gave him a peck on the lips before slipping out of bed.

“You manage to take a conversation and make it more awkward nearly every time.”

She grinned at that. “I never used to understand it—called it a curse. Now I know it’s simply the Winchester Wit and Wonder.”

Wes rolled his eyes with a smirk. “I have met your brothers and can say I wonder a lot, but more on their wits than wit.”

“I’m gonna go grab some coffee,’ she said in a poor attempt to act offended.

“You’re off to go chat with you angelic boyfriend about tracking down the non-angelic Angelus.”

He really was adorable she noted when she turned back to see him snuggled up in the bed. Part of her just wanted to spend the day spooning and cuddling and canoodling. But that part was drowned out by the one who wanted to prove her worth as a witch and Lady of Letters and a hunter and a Winchester. “Yeah.”

“Wake me up by three, love,” Wes muttered and rolled over.

Dating a bartender had to strike some similarities to dating a vampire. Both did most of their work at night with most of diets in liquid form. Both slept during the day and were incredibly pale. And he’s had the unique ability to put her to sleep with long-winded tales of plagues and skirmishes that were of little to no import in the course of human history. Much like a very old, very British vampire.

She chuckled as she made off to find her angel buddy. He’d find it funny.

*~*~*

He woke up naked, whipped and alone—in other words, fantastic. Dean loved to cuddle, but he _loved_ sleeping in because it didn’t happen enough. When there wasn’t a case, there was prep for a case or training Baby Slay or some other shit that was the revolving door of bunker life.

Like now. He knew Fay was up and cracking her figurative whip on the troops. If Brina and Cass hadn’t tracked Angelus, his girl would be taking her frustration out on Rosalie with some aggressive hand-to-hand training.

He rubbed his wrists and felt the damage from his girlfriend’s literal whip and couldn’t help but smile. He still wasn’t convinced she got off on the role play as much as she got off on _him_ enjoying it, but he did and he wasn’t ever gonna look that gift horse in the mouth. Rope burns were a small price to pay for incredible sex.

Honestly, his whole life felt pretty incredible right now. He had Faith and Sammy and Mom and Sabrina and a whole family that had expanded into a dysfunctional unit of love. He had a home. He had a purpose in helping the slayers protect the world. He even had a bar to go get his drink on that had put now _two_ of his concoctions on the menu.

And he was scared shitless. Last night and the soulmate verbal diarrhea hadn’t come from nowhere. He’d been dreaming that freak out for months now—torn between making a group announcement and sneaking off with Faith in the middle of the night to keep from spilling the beans. Because he _so_ wanted to spill—no dump—all the beans. He wanted to tell everyone who kept acting like he and Fay were gonna fizzle out that they could take their wrongness and shove it up their ass.

Granted, that made him wonder if the soulmate thing was the _only_ reason she hadn’t moved on—why she humored him with role play and cuddles and naked Truth and Dare. Then he’d get all in his head and stop feeling incredible and today he didn’t want to do that.

Instead, he rolled out of the bed, flipped on the light and stumbled to the sink to take a piss. Faith hated it, which was part of the reason—aside from pure fucking convenience—he did it. He told her once she stopped pulling off her socks before bed only to rub her frigid toes on his legs, he’d stop. Six months later and the ball was still in her cold feet court.

After checking his phone and finding he’d slept nearly the whole morning away, he pulled on some sweats and a tee and ventured out into the world. His earlier prediction was confirmed when he moseyed by the entrance to the training room just in time to watch a little blonde figure fly into the air and crash into the wall with a hard grunt.

“You know what you did there?” Nick’s voice had a twinge of bemusement that Dean knew would cost him later with a slayer girlfriend.

“Fuck off, Hunter,” Rosalie spat as she pulled herself up.

“You forgot the defense positions of Muay Thai,” he answered.

Dean peaked in and saw Sam and Nick looking on in folding chairs as Faith was apparently kicking ass and taking names. The official watcher cleared his throat. “Muay Thai is an important style of combat called ‘The Art of Eight Limbs.’ Faith has studied it because—”

“I’m awesome,” she cut in.

“Because,” Sam bit back, “it’s a proven effective practice in hand-to-hand combat.”

“Oh yeah?” Rose quipped. “Then why don’t you come on up and bust a move?”

Dean stepped inside and leaned his back against the doorframe. “A decent MMA fighter could kick your ass with them moves. If they threw in a little Lethwei, you’d be down for the count.”

Nick spoke first. “How in the bloody hell—”

“And a good fuck you, Mary Poppins,” Dean retorted. “Did you miss the part where I said MMA?”

When he looked over at her, Dean was pleased to see his lady biting her lip with a look that told him he’d been a good little Ducky. He shrugged and gave her a smirk and a wink. “Sometimes I’m allowed to watch TV after I service the Slayer.”

“Which means not very often,” Faith teased. “Considering he’s usually too tired after my many, many—”

“We get the picture,” Nick interrupted in a rush.

“Yeah?” Dean said fumbling in his pocket. “Cause I got a couple of videos of—”

“You’re fucking kidding, right?” Sam asked with all the fluster Dean had intended before turning wide-eyed to Faith. “You two don’t actually make videos.” When Faith began to whistle and look at the ceiling, Sam cried out. “Really?”

“Aha!” Dean declared as he found the video he wanted. “Ro, check this out.”

“Do not check that out!” Nick roared.

Dean chuckled and flashed his screen for everyone to see the fight on YouTube he’d pulled up. “Watch and see how with the right defensive positioning, you can keep standing against nearly any foe.”

He tossed the phone and waited for the younger slayer to catch it and hit play before walking over to the reigning champ of the training room. “Did I get ya going?” he whispered with a boyish grin once his back was turned from the others.

“I didn’t know how far you’d go to fuck with the kids,” she said, unable to keep her lips from tugging upward.

“I’m saving a move like that for a special occasion—birthday or wedding or some time where they were right and I was wrong.”

“So Tuesday?”

“Bad Kitty,” he hissed before leaning forward. “And here I thought you liked how I stroked your pussy.”

“Shut up,” she snickered.

“You sure were purring after I slid my tongue right up—”

She shoved him back and looked at the others. “So, we doing this again, kiddo?”

Dean sauntered back out of the line of fire and gestured for Ro to toss back the phone. When she did, he walked over beside the guys to watch.

“You two don’t actually video yourselves having sex?” Nick asked in a low voice.

“Have you watched slayer porn?” Dean joked.

“I’m gonna be sick,” Sam muttered.

“That reminds me,” Dean said before giving his brother a hard slap on the back and shouting. “How you feeling today, Sammy? You don’t have a headache or anything, yeah?”

“Fuck you,” he grumbled.

“I’m good,” he chirped.

Nick turned in his chair and eyed him up and down. “Are those rope burns or cuff marks on your wrists?”

“I said good.”

Nick’s eyes narrowed. “Did she bite your neck or is that the hardest hickey ever made?”

Dean winked. “Didn’t get no telly time last night.” Then he chuckled. “Speaking of, wanna watch some Tellytubbies?”

“Fuck off, Winchester.”

Dean didn’t respond but watched the two slayers square off in another spar. He imagined Rose lasted longer this go but eventually had her ass handed to her once more after her eagerness to win made her get sloppy. After getting thrown to the ground, she screamed with all the rage of a girl on the verge of a meltdown.

“Maybe a break?” Nick pleaded.

“Break sounds good,” Dean agreed.

“Let’s take a break,” Sam said, hopping up and practically sprinting for the door.

Dean and Faith followed on his heels as Nick stayed to presumably boost Rosalie’s shattered ego. “Am I gonna get another lecture on playing nice?” Faith drawled as she fell by Dean’s side just behind Sam.

“No.” Sam’s voice sounded more defeated than irritated. He stopped and turned around. “She’s still doing it and I can’t get her to stop.”

“Sucking?” Dean asked before getting a double glare. He shrugged.

Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s worse with you, but it’s happening with everyone.”

“Sammy developed a theory that Ro’s jealousy is fucking up her game,” Faith elaborated. “And he’s right, but I dunno how to fix it. Going soft on her ain’t gonna do her favors when she’s out there.”

“Exactly,” Sam said on a sigh.

“She’s been treated special since she was born,” Dean pointed out. “Then she got the visions and the loving supportive dad thing.”

“Her mom and brother were brutally murdered,” Faith countered.

“Blah, blah, blah. We all got childhood PTSD.”

Sam looked up in horror. “You just blahed that?”

Dean shrugged. “We got the same deal. Faith’s life was shitty with a capital S. It sucks, but we three did the whole bootstraps thing and not with a whole bunch of help and support. Girl don’t know how good she gots it.”

“Amen,” Faith muttered.

“I agree,” Sam said. “But she’s young and feeling all this pressure to make a name for herself. She’s living in the shadow of two of the most infamous and powerful slayers in all of history.”

“Stop hitting on my girlfriend,” Dean teased.

“Please continue,” Faith replied. “And tell me who could possibly be more infamous and powerful than me and B?”

“Part of that is you two are just old,” Dean quipped.

Faith’s eyebrows shot up. “Old? And how old are you again?”

“Thirty-eight and counting.”

Sam’s eyes narrowed. “Aren’t you—”

Dean was not about to tell his younger and very much more virile girlfriend that he was on the countdown to entering decade four. If Sammy betrayed him, he’d have no other choice than to kill him in his sleep. A few years older wasn’t a big deal, but moving up to the next decade was a huge fucking deal. “What have we figured out on finding Angel?” That would change the subject.

“Brina and Cass have been up since dawn.” Dean noted how Sam paused at the word. “Rowena is working on something from wherever she is with a guy named Eduardo.”

“Did you ask for details?” Dean asked.

“Well, she said something about getting hold of something that belonged to Angel in order to draw off of his energy.”

“I meant Eduardo,” Dean said. “Is this a cabana boy kinda guy or a rich businessman she’s banging?”

“You’re fucked up,” Sam groaned as he turned to walk off toward the library.

“That’s why she likes me more. I’m personable.”

“Pretty sure she likes Sammy more,” Faith said with a patronizing pat on the shoulder.

“Nuh-uh.”

“Last time you called her a cradle robber.”

“He was barely legal!”

“And she’s like three hundred. Anybody’s gonna be a stretch.” She paused. “You also made fun of her dress.”

“I just asked if she was trying to poke eyes out with her nipples… Yeah, saying it aloud again I can hear it.”

“Honey, I can’t believe you had to say it twice.” She glanced behind them before leaning over and brushing her lips across his cheek. He cheated and turned his head to steal her lips in a chaste kiss.

“You know you love me,” he whispered.

“Not for your brain,” she said with a smirk before smacking his ass and moving forward.

Instead of biting back, he just watched her ass sway as she walked on down the hall. He figured that made him smarter than anything.


	10. Chapter 10

Dawn wasn’t hungover, but she felt like she might as well be as she tiptoed into the main meeting room with Daniel on her heels. She wasn’t sure if she hoped to find Sam in there or not—their run-in that morning had been of the awkward and then of the juvenile, which seemed to be what she excelled at these days. On one hand, the thought of looking at Sam hurt. On the other, she very much wanted an excuse to be all over her studly boyfriend and rub exactly what Sam was missing in his face. The part of her that knew it wasn’t fair to use Daniel as a human shield put up a decent fight, but not decent enough to get recognized or listened to.

As it was, Sam wasn’t in sight when she and Daniel assumed their seats, though it seemed fair to assume he’d show up soon, since his slayer was in here, brooding hard enough that, were Angel around, he might feel like his trademark was being infringed upon.

“Something wrong?” Dawn asked by way of greeting as she slid into the seat next to Rose. Up close, she saw the blossoming bruise on her cheek and the general disarray that was her hair. A telltale sign of a fight—or, considering the position of the sun—having just had her ass handed to her by the resident slayer.

“No,” Rosalie ground out, not taking her eyes off the laptop screen. “Everything’s fine. I’m fine. It’s all fine up in here.”

Dawn glanced at Daniel, who arched an eyebrow but didn’t say anything. Likely wise—he’d only gotten a hint of the kind of punch a slayer could pack the previous night.

“Looking at anything fun?” Dawn asked, taking a not-so-subtle peek at the screen.

“Trying to prove that there are _some_ things I can do around here better than _certain_ other people,” Rosalie replied. “Like find Angelus.”

“We’re taking a break from training,” Nick said as he made his way into the room, a bottle of water in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. “This morning’s sparring session—”

“They don’t need to know I choked, Hunter.”

“Love, you didn’t choke. You held your own against—”

“How many times did she throw me into the wall again? Five? Six?” Rosalie scowled up at him, snatching the bottle of water from his grasp. “My head’s a bit dinged up, so you’ll forgive me if I don’t remember the exact number.”

Dawn pressed her lips together. Okay, apparently that was a touchy subject. A familiar one, too. She distinctly remembered the rivalry between Buffy and Faith—before the rivalry had turned deadly—being all about whose skills were more up to scratch than the other. That Faith was in her thirties and had gotten there by managing to not die longer than any other slayer, Buffy included, meant she was going to have an edge over anyone who came after her. That much was expected.

“So how are we searching for Angelus?” Dawn asked as Rosalie scowled at another news article before hitting the _back_ button. “We think he’s in LA still?”

“That would’ve been my guess, since that’s where he was when he was spotted last,” Rosalie muttered. “And where he’s been ever since… Well, being all evil. But I’m not seeing any headlines that follow his kill pattern in LA. It could be he finally moved on. He’s never been happy about being a Wolfram and Hart lackey.”

“Yeah, but that hasn’t exactly stopped him from playing the part,” Dawn replied, unable to keep her mind from going to the phone call Spike had left her prior to her sister’s stint in Hell. The one where he’d let her know in grizzly detail just exactly what Buffy had gone through as Angelus’s torture toy. “If it got him access to Buffy…”

“Trouble is B’s not in LA anymore,” Faith said as she strolled in, and either she missed the way Rosalie stiffened or chose to ignore it. “He could rely on those resources while everyone was at Camp Hyperion but Wolfram and Hart don’t exactly do much for him out here.” She sighed and dropped into a seat across the table from Rosalie. “You think your dad might have some of his shit on hand?” she asked. “Dunno what the protocol is up there when some vamp goes soulless and starts killing clients.”

Nick flitted his gaze between Faith and Rosalie, apparently on the edge of his seat. Whatever had happened that morning had to have been of the bad, because Rosalie loved Faith like a sister.

Then again, Dawn knew what it was like to be outshone by an older sister at approximately every turn, so maybe that was part of the problem.

Rosalie lifted her chin slightly, as though she were deigning to acknowledge Faith’s presence and she should be damn grateful for that. “I’ll call Dad. I’m sure he has something that Angel left. We definitely cleaned up Angel’s room, but I’m not sure where we might have put the things in there. Angel wasn’t really a things-having guy.”

If Faith was bothered by the attitude being shot her way, she didn’t let it show, just shrugged and kicked her feet up on the table. “Guess there’s nothin’ to do but wait then. Might call B and see if she has any idea where we might grab somethin’ of Angel’s if your old man ain’t any help.”

“What’s Wright not helping with?” Dean asked as he plodded into the room. He had two bottles of water tucked under his arm and a couple of sacks of food from one of the nearby diners. He favored Dawn with a polite dip of the chin before plonking one of the food sacks in front of his girlfriend. “They were outta hot sauce. Tellin’ you now before you accuse me of forgettin’ it.”

“Fuckers,” Faith muttered, snatching up the sack. “What about—”

“Extra onions and jalapenos as requested, Dragon Breath.” Dean settled into the seat beside her, rubbing his chin. “I can already feel my lips burning.”

Faith leaned over to give his crotch a pointed look. “Seems I remember certain parts of you enjoyin’ the sensation.”

Dawn flicked her gaze to Daniel, whose expression was that of a guy who wasn’t sure whether or not he could take Faith seriously.

Dean surreptitiously crossed his legs and gave her a wink as he unwrapped his breakfast burrito.

“My dad _is_ helping,” Rosalie said, tersely punching the keyboard. “If he has anything of Angel’s, he’ll let me know.”

“Ah. Locator spell. Got it.” Dean waited until Rosalie looked back down to shoot Faith a look that practically screamed, “Well, ain’t she pissy?” Faith shrugged and took a monstrous bite of her own burrito, her cheeks full to bursting. And damn if Dean’s eyes didn’t take on this soft glaze that said less, “You’re gross,” and more, “You’re my favorite.”

Dawn knew because that was the exact way Daniel looked at her most of the time. She really thought that Dean and Faith would have fizzled out by now, but there was enough of that shine in Faith’s eyes too—the sort you really had to know her to see—that screamed it wasn’t one-sided at all. And happy as she knew she should be for the pair of them, Dawn couldn’t help feeling a bit resentful.

It shouldn’t have been that easy for them when it was anything but for her. She and Sam made more sense than these two ever had.

Except maybe they didn’t.

“Oh my god.”

Dawn shook her head and turned back to Rosalie, whose bitchy expression had faded into stunned shock. “What? Find something.”

A beat, then a grin spread across Rosalie’s face. This was apparently enough to startle everyone, for even the sounds of chewing fell silent. “Oh hell yes, I found something,” she said, then punched something on her keyboard.

Without warning, _“Zack Morris is traaaaaash,”_ erupted from the computer’s speakers in a singsong voice.

Faith sat up ramrod straight. “What the hell?”

But Rosalie had dissolved into a fit of giggles so loud that it was almost impossible to hear what appeared to be a YouTube video detailing an exploit of Zack’s from high school. Dawn leaned closer, which was hard to do with Rosalie convulsing with laughter, and peered at the images on-screen.

“Oh my god, it’s him,” she whispered. “It’s really him. How is this even possible?”

“Nuh-uh.” Faith bolted to her feet and circled the table, then froze when she caught sight of the screen. “Holy fucking shit, no way.” And she started to laugh too. “And Kelly!”

“What?” Now Dean was there, leaning over Faith with wide eyes. “What the hell is this?”

“Trash,” Rosalie managed between giggles. “My uncle is traaaaaash.”

“How is this even a thing? Why…” Dean straightened, his eyebrows shooting skyward. “Did he just stop and address the camera?”

“The principal…” Rosalie was laughing so hard her cheeks had gone almost purple. “Zack told me about this.”

Faith snorted. “About being trash?”

“The principal had a demon deal or something. I’m not even sure what the details were, but they figured it out some years back.” Rosalie brought her hands up. “Only reason I know is Zack suggested Bayside for me after I was tapped as the next Slayer and he was, well, unevil for a period. But it was too far from the Hyperion and Dad didn’t want me to go to a demon school. He wanted one part of my life to be demon-free.” She guffawed again. “Didn’t take!”

“So there was a demon deal at Zack’s school that made it look like he was staring in a sitcom?” Dean’s expression went from confused and somewhat concerned to absolutely delighted. “How many of these trash videos are there?”

“I have to call my dad!” Rosalie said, reaching into her pocket for her phone. “He has to know! I mean, I need to call him anyway about Angelus, but this. Is. Gold.”

“Oh my god,” Dawn said, laughing now too. A short laugh at first, then a long, hard one. “I call dibs on telling Spike.”

“Oh, no fair!” Dean cried. “Come on.”

“He’s _my_ brother-in-law and I’ve known him longer than anyone in this room, so overruled.” Dawn grinned wider. “It’ll be the perfect welcome home present.”

At that, Rosalie stopped laughing and turned to her. “Huh?”

“Buffy and Spike are on their way back,” Dawn said. “Should be here tonight, I think.”

“Fuck _yes_.” Faith rolled her head back, sighing her relief. “She can take the next few mornings with your brother,” she told Dean, strolling back to her side of the table. “Mama needs to sleep in.”

“Yeah, and what _Rosalie_ needs is to have her ass handed to her by a different slayer,” Rosalie muttered, slamming her laptop shut.

Hunter sprang to his feet. “Rose—”

“I’m going to call Dad,” she said, deftly sidestepping her boyfriend. “Tell him about this and ask about Angel’s stuff. Then I’m going for a run.”

Well, Rosalie must be in a snit, Dawn thought. She didn’t remember the girl ever volunteering to run. It had been her least favorite part of training just six months ago.

Nick watched her go, then rounded on Faith with a scowl. “Just had to mention that, didn’t you?” he said. “Don’t you think you could a bit easy on the girl?”

“What the fuck good is going easy on her?” Faith shot back. “That’s bullshit and you know it, Nicky.”

“How is she supposed to learn if she’s constantly on the defensive?”

“How is that my problem?” Faith retorted. “You know just as well as I do that what Ro’s problem is ain’t about me, it’s about her.”

“No, Faith, it _is_ about you. She idolizes you, you know she does, so you can imagine how embarrassing it is for her to constantly try to prove herself only to fall flat in front of the person whose opinion matters most.”

“Yeah,” Faith replied hotly, crossing her arms. “I also know that vamps and demons and all other kinda shit don’t give a fuck about how embarrassed she is or ain’t.”

“Most demons aren’t going to be as strong as you to begin with.”

“Nick, you’re thinkin’ like a boyfriend. Stop for a moment and remember all the shit you used to throw at her back before you two were banging.” She arched her eyebrows in challenge. “Or are you forgettin’ the shit you used to say to me when we were—”

Dean coughed. Loudly. Faith rolled her eyes. “On our own,” she supplied.

“Fucking,” Dawn added, just because she could.

Daniel’s eyes were wide again. “Wait,” he said, gesturing between Faith and Nick. “You two…”

“Dawnie, how’s about we don’t open that door?” Faith said with a strained smile. “You and me are five-by-five right now and I’d like to keep it that way.”

Dawn just grinned and brought up her hands. “I was only saying, that’s what you would’ve been doing on your own.” She paused, considered. “And it’s probably part of the problem with Rose, too. Even if she doesn’t know it. You’re the more experienced slayer. The more experienced… Well, everything.”

“This ain’t new,” Dean volunteered, coming around to Faith now. “It’s the same shit from the Hellmouth. And probably from all the shit with the bracelet, too.”

“Right, but it just got worse, didn’t it?” Dawn pressed on. “I mean, think about it, Faith. Everything the past few months—really, ever since Rosalie was Called—has been all about you or Buffy. Going to Hell, Wolfram and Hart kidnapping… The one time anyone valued Rosalie as a slayer was when Wolfram and Hart wanted her power, and you kinda stole her thunder there, too.”

“By dying?” Dean barked. “Yeah, the kid’s got it real rough.”

“I’m not saying it makes sense or is fair,” Dawn replied coolly. “But yeah, Dean, by dying. It became less about Rosalie and more about Faith sacrificing herself to save her. Plus Faith _was_ boning the guy she loves on the regular up until right before that.”

Faith flung herself into her seat, looking disgusted.

“Then Lucifer was all over _Faith_ too. It’s always been—”

“You know what,” Faith snapped, “next time that pervy motherfucker wants to stick his dick in somethin’, I’ll be sure to let him know the kid feels neglected. She could cook him up a hybrid brat just as well as I could. Better, even, since buns ain’t ever goin’ in this oven.”

Dean held out a hand which she met with an abrupt high-five, all the while never taking her eyes off Dawn.

“I’m not arguing with you,” Dawn said patiently. “I just… I think it might be good if Rosalie saw you not being the best at something just once.”

Faith arched her eyebrows. “Any suggestions, then? I ain’t about to go get myself killed again.”

“How about when Buffy gets here, you spar with her?” Dawn felt herself go a bit red at the suggestion, more so when Faith snickered. “I mean… You’ve never beaten Buffy. And she’s a vamp now so it should be easier to get your ass handed to you.”

Something painful flickered across Faith’s face and every inch of her went tense. “Fuck you.”

“Well, come on, Faith! That way you feel about Buffy is how Rose feels about you, only it’s worse because of—”

“B and me are good. I ain’t holdin’ anything against her.”

“Maybe not now, but you did. And it has to grate you that she’s stronger.”

The tightening of Faith’s jaw said that it did. A lot.

Dawn shrugged and rose to her feet; Daniel followed suit. “Just, something to think about,” she said. “I’m going to go see if Sabrina or Cass need help.”

She hurried from the room without another word. While she and Faith would never be bestest buddies, they _had_ managed to get to the other side of the open hostility of last year and Dawn did not want to start that again. Even if it would be a nice distraction from Sam.

“That was tense,” Daniel muttered, his hand on the small of her back.

That was being generous. One thing Dawn definitely hadn’t missed was the drama that was bound to come up when several people were sharing a space—even a space as large as the bunker. The nice thing to do would be to go into some sort of explanation of the power dynamics between Rosalie and Faith and why things were tense there, but then she’d also have to talk about her sister and Faith, and she wasn’t sure she could adequately explain just how screwy her family was.

“So,” Daniel said cautiously, “bad blood between your sister and—”

Whirling around and catching Daniel in a passionate kiss at that exact moment served two purposes. One, it shut him up about Buffy and Faith, and hopefully would distract him so thoroughly he’d forget what he’d been about to ask. Two, Sam had just rounded the corner down the hall, and Dawn could think of nothing her ex deserved more than to see her sucking face with her hot boyfriend. Granted, Daniel would likely be a bit confused—she typically didn’t make sounds like she was about to orgasm just by kissing him. Though from the enthusiastic response she received, he couldn’t care less. The next thing she knew, her back was against the wall and he was all over her, doing things to her that would have any normal girl getting hot and wet for him. But Dawn was no normal girl—all she could think about was Sam, hoping he was getting an eyeful, hoping it was pissing him off, hoping he was kicking himself for ever letting her leave in the first place.

God, she so needed to dump Daniel, the poor guy. Or orchestrate a match with someone who deserved him. If Sabrina weren’t dating Wesley, she’d shove him at the witch’s tits. Hell, maybe she would anyway. Wesley was a total snooze.

After what felt like a small eternity, Daniel pulled back and grinned at her. “What was that for?”

A throat cleared and Dawn did an inner victory dance. Sam had seen the whole thing.

“Just couldn’t keep my hands to myself,” she replied brightly, then turned and continued on down the hall, right past Sam, and somehow managed to keep from acknowledging his presence.

_Suck on it, Winchester._

*~*~*

Wright might never breathe again. And as far as he was concerned, that was all right with him. Because the alternative was not having opened this email, not having clicked this link, and not seeing the wonder that was _Zack Morris is Trash._ The need for oxygen seemed secondary to that and pretty much everything else.

“Zack! Zack!” Cordelia rushed into his office, looking worried, which only tickled him more. “What in the world—”

He didn’t respond, merely climbed to his knees so he could see over the desk well enough to hit the ell enough to hit the _play_ button on the video. The second, “ _Zack Morris is traaaaash,”_ sounded in the office, he burst up again, his sides aching and his chest begging him for air.

“What… Oh my god, is that your brother?”

“Just….watch,” he managed between laughs, tears stinging his eyes.

She did, and soon she was on the floor with him, lost in a fit of giggles.

“Ya’ll gone crazy?” came Gunn’s voice.

“Zack Morris is trash!” Cordy guffawed, popping her head over the desk. “He’s _trash!”_

“Thanks,” Zack Morris said wryly as he came into the room, the only person in the world who could have possibly made this funnier. “Turns out this piece of trash has news you’re going to want to hear. And not of the good variety.”

It was no good. The second Wright and Cordy caught sight of him, they lost the plot again and thudded together onto the floor.

“Seriously?” Zack asked, aghast. “Did you get hit by some spell or something? Dude, you’re purple in the face.”

Wright heaved for breath, trying and failing to pull himself into his office chair, Cordelia clawing at him for purchase. Somehow he managed to park his ass in the seat and, still laughing, hit _play_ and whirled his laptop around so that his brother could see the magic for himself.

The second the voice sang the intro, though, he and Cordy dissolved once more, and his body became oddly resistant to leather, slipping back onto the floor with her.

“What is going on in there?” Gunn demanded, sounding nearer than he had a moment ago. “What—”

Using what had to be vamp-speed, Zack slammed the office door shut, his features twisted into a mask of shock mingled with confusion and fury. “What the _fuck_ is this?”

Without missing a beat, Wright and Cordelia sang together, _“Zack Morris is traaaash!”_

“This…this is me. In high school.” Zack stared at the computer screen as though willing it to change. It did not oblige. “And…hey! I had a good reason for doing that! How the hell is this even a thing? Where did you get this?”

“Rosalie,” Wright managed, climbing into his chair for a second time. At last, the laughing fit had started to abate, though he felt it there on the periphery, waiting for the moment to burst out again. Cordelia, too, seemed to have collected herself enough to rise to her feet.

“Rosalie made this?”

“She _found_ it.” He wiped tears from his eyes. “And there are apparently a lot of them.”

“A lot of…”

“You being trash.”

Zack’s expression tightened. “How? How… I…” Understanding dawned in his eyes. “Belding! _Belding!_ I am going to kill him. Then you, then Rosalie, and then everyone who’s seen this.”

“That sounds really trashy of you,” Cordelia said, tittering. Wright clapped a hand over his mouth to keep his laugh from escaping.

Zack sighed his disgust and tossed something onto the desk. Something that, unfortunately, had the grin on Wright’s lips vanishing on the spot.

It was the LA Times, a photo of Sam Seaborn dipping Willow like they were posing for a romance cover. The headline read: _GOVERNOR GRABBY HANDS. Inside Sam Seaborn’s sordid sexual liaisons._

“Well, fuck,” Wright grumbled.

“Yeah,” Zack replied, perhaps a bit harsher than he would have under normal circumstances. “Looks like the cat is out of the Willow-bag. There’s also something in here about Josh and Donna’s kid.”

Cordelia snatched the paper up, wide-eyed. “What?”

“Yeah. So…” Zack rocked a bit on his heels. “Do we wanna take a bet on whether or not this sends Willow over Apocalypse Mountain again?”

*~*~*

Ever since Rosa Lee’s had opened up, Lebanon had developed something of a reputation. Whether that was because of the new demon bar that kept things interesting as fuck, the fact that the Hellmouth had opened here, however briefly, or that the residents had become significantly hotter, Dean didn’t know. He was still adjusting to the idea of home being a place where things happened rather than a place he and Sammy camped out in between things happening. Granted, thanks to his soulmate status, he was adjusting to quite a lot and most of it was good. Fan-fucking-tastic, even.

He’d decided to be a good ducky and give Faith some space for a few hours. Seemed that remark about never having beaten Buffy at anything had stirred up some old bullshit, which she was currently taking out on the poor punching bag in the training room. He’d debated teasing her that if she busted it off its hook again, she owed him a new one. It was getting that way anyway, as much abuse as it got between her and Ro.

Even though she said she didn’t, Dean figured Faith did hold back from going full strength on the kid in their training these days, because when she was unleashing everything she had, she was damn near unstoppable. More than once, when she’d been pissed off about something or other, he’d walked into the training room just in time to see the poor punching bag sail the length of the room with no sign of slowing down. If it weren’t for the walls in there, it might never touch the ground again.

Cass and Sabrina had taken off to meet with a MACUSA contact they thought might have inside information on Angelus’s whereabouts. Wesley was sleeping, it still being too early for him to show his ugly mug. Nick was probably somewhere getting his ass chewed out by a hormonal teenager, and he had no idea where Sammy had gotten to—maybe also getting his ass chewed out by a hormonal teenager. Sam being the oafy glutton for punishment that he was, would likely dive hard and deep into his Watcher duties to avoid acknowledging Dawn’s existence.

So, for the time being, Dean had decided to swing by Rosa Lee’s to keep himself busy. It was either that or work on Baby, but the fact of the matter was Baby was in about as good a shape as she ever had been, with things being calm on the home front. Also, there weren’t many times he got the lucky pleasure of being in the bar by himself, and he wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Everyone was usually so tired by the time the bar closed down that all the administrative bullshit was left for the morning. Things like counting down the register, going over the inventory, matching up receipts and making sure everything evened out. To his enormous chagrin, the first time he’d done this—basic arithmetic—everyone had acted like he’d pulled a rabbit out of his ass. That GED hadn’t earned itself, fuck you very much. And hell, sometimes Dean liked doing this sort of shit. It was calm, menial, and normal in a world where nothing else in his life was. Helped clear his head a bit.

Dean parked himself in Nick’s office with a bottle of beer—his payment, thank you—and was working his way through the last of the night’s takings when the sound of breaking glass reached his ears. He was on his feet the next minute, edging toward the door.

This happened at least once a month, and part of the reason he’d decided to camp it here was after a big throw-down like last night, the odds increased. Some demon assholes decided to burst in and raid the place. Rowena had been meaning to put some kind of witchy thing to prevent broken windows and vandalism, but they hadn’t managed it yet.

Dean glanced around Hunter’s office, trying to debate which gun to take when another pane of glass shattered. Fuckers were going to tear up the joint. Swearing under his breath, he decided the Colt would do just fine and dragged his out of the holster, then slowly began making his way toward the front.

It was empty. A bottle of Jack, though, had smashed against the counter, scattering glittering pieces of glass every which way. An empty tumbler that hadn’t been there when Dean had arrived was also broken, tipped over beside the mess. Someone had had themselves a party or tried to.

“Ain’t no use hidin’, dirtbag,” Dean said, negotiating his way over the few pieces of glass that had fallen to the ground. “I know you’re here.”

Something whipped past him at a speed that couldn’t be anything human. He whirled around, gun ready, and aimed at empty space. But his other senses were alive now, that pounding fury that had kept him alive—and sometimes dead—this long. Something was close and it was fucking with him. In his own goddamn bar. Wasn’t gonna end pretty for the son of a bitch, that was for sure.

“Come on out, you chickenshit,” he called, heading in the direction his senses told him the creature had gone. “Ain’t no sense in tryin’ anything. Sanctuary spell’s gonna kick your ass outta here if I don’t find you first, and it’ll be a lot nicer about it.”

Something else whooshed by, this time on his other side. He whirled again, gun ready, but again there was no one. Not even a shadow moved.

Then, without ceremony, a wrecking ball slammed into his back, the pressure at his shoulders, and sent him face-first to the dirty bar floor. Time and experience helped him keep hold of the gun, but it was wrenched away the next second—and he did mean _wrenched_. Damn near broke his fingers trying to keep the thing.

What the fuck? That stupid ass sanctuary spell shoulda had his assailant on the other side of the bar. He was so calling Rowena and chewing her a new asshole.

Whoever was sitting on his back snickered. And there was something familiar about that snicker.

“Twitchy little thing, aren’t you?” drawled a voice he knew all too well. The next second, the pressure at Dean’s back was gone and a hand was in front of his face. A hand bearing chipped black nail polish. “With that bleeding spell in place, what’d you think would happen if you fired this thing?”

“Spike?” Dean allowed himself to be hauled to his feet. “What the hell, man?”

The vampire smirked at him and tossed back his gun. “Just testin’ your reflexes, mate. Gettin’ a bit slow in your old age.”

“Fuck you.” Dean groused and stuffed his gun back into his holster. “How the hell did you manage that, anyway?”

The answer came from behind him.

“That’d be me, dearie.”

He turned to find Rowena and Buffy standing on the other side of the bar, both looking amused.

“Rowena, I expect this from, but Buffy?” Dean favored her with his best wounded-puppy look. “Why you gotta do me like that?”

“I do have a demon in me. Gotta get my kicks in somewhere.” She grinned and leaned against the bar. It was the first he’d seen of her in months, and he had to say she’d worn the time well. Too well. It was almost weirder seeing proof positive that she and Spike were locked in one age forever rather than the expected tan or haircut because nothing had changed. “And we figured we’d be needing a witch of the non-Potter variety to do the soul spell on Angel so we made a call on our way here.”

Rowena gave a little finger wave. “I’ll put the spell back up,” she said, smirking. “Just couldn’t resist the temptation of seeing you thrown on your arse, Dean Winchester.”

“Technically I was thrown on my front,” he murmured. “And you all suck.”

Spike clapped him on the back, snickering still. “Missed you too, mate.”


	11. Chapter 11

When he went to sleep last night, Sam had anticipated a very good day awaited him. The fundraiser had ended with only a couple of easily fixed snafus and he and Willow had used his costume to make some extremely naughty music of the night. His first order of business was to have an encore performance after waking up.

Of course he wouldn’t be that lucky. Of course it wouldn’t be Will’s lips on his body coaxing him from sleep but the pounding on his hotel door by Josh screaming for him to wake up. Of course someone had _magically_ captured the photo of the moment he’d caught Willow’s fall. Of course all the salacious rumors of his love life were in the accompanying article.

Sam sometimes—more often than not—believed that he was damned never to run for public office successfully ever again.

So instead of taking a tour of the newest science and technology laboratory school built in the inner city of Los Angeles for children who so deserved a hand up instead of an occasional handout before addressing the press to outline his proposals for country-wide educational reform, he was staring down a gaggle of reporters far more interested in what was in his pants than his mind.

“Governor, first, do you have an official statement about the article published this morning?”

“There have been any number of articles printed this morning, including one outlining the Compton Laboratory Academy we just walked through and incalculable benefits it will be bestowed to the students, the community and the country that deserves no less from all of our public schools.” Sam gave himself a mental high-five for getting back on topic.

Another vulture sounded from the flock. “The _LA Times_ printed a rather unflattering picture and article about you, Governor. Do you have a response?”

Oh, he had a helluva lot of responses, but very few were worthy of public consumption. This would be what made or broke him in getting past this whole PR nightmare. He had to find the perfect balance between righteous indignation and a sarcastic dismal that would only draw more attention or infuriate potential voters.

Sam plastered on a wide smile as he began. “My first response is to point out that a particular photo was far from unflattering. As my ex-girlfriends and fiancée would gladly attest, I am not typically that suave or debonair. The sad reality is that I wasn’t actually either at that moment either, but thanks to a lack of context and excellent shutter speed, I was captured catching an attendee who happened to trip on my cape as she tried to approach Ms. Ellen Degeneres last night as we were speaking.”

“You are saying that you and the woman are not romantically involved?”

_Fuck._

He knew he had to look thrown because he felt it. So playing into it, he released an exasperated chuckle. “That is possibly the most astounding leap I have ever heard—I can only imagine the accusations if George Clooney had tripped on my cape.”

“Is it presumptuous to ask considering the claims stated in the article?”

Sam took a deep breath and steadied himself because this part was where he got pissed off. Not that he blamed the paper in totality, but he couldn’t publicly state that he thought a magical tabloid reporter had bewitched her way on the front of the _LA Times_ —even if that was Will, Harry and Ginny’s unanimous opinion. “I’m so glad you asked that question because it gives me a chance to express how deeply disappointed I am in the _Times_. Journalists and our print media are given a great responsibility of educating and informing us all. The fact that this story that can so easily be debunked and discredited—and would have been with a single phone call to any of the parties involved—calls in to question exactly what standards those at the _Times_ have for themselves and their readers.”

“So you are denying that Donna Moss—”

He held up a hand to quiet the reporter. “I am stating for the record that I have never had any type of romantic or illicit relationship with Donna Moss-Lyman. Furthermore, I am denying the paternity of her child. Just to ensure this story is properly refuted, DNA testing will be released showing I am not the father of Leo Lyman and that Josh Lyman is the child’s father.” He paused and gave the reporter a pointed look. “Does that answer your question?”

The silent nod was all he needed to make his break. “Thank you all so much for coming with me today to acknowledge and celebrate the amazing work we’re undertaking here in California to bring our educational system closer to the American dreams we all possess. If I am blessed to become president, I vow to work to bring improvements to all states in our great union.”

As he turned and walked off toward his staff, the relief on Josh’s face spoke for the group—he’d dodged a bullet. Problem was that Sam didn’t feel like it was the last one in the chamber.

*~*~*

Faith had a feeling she and Dawn were gonna have a row sometime in the very near future. The Wonder Vamps hadn’t been in the bunker fifteen minutes before the little bitch had brought up the idea of her and B taking on a showcase showdown.

“Well, considerin’ I just bested her boy, seems fair that she gets a chance to defend his honor,” Blondie had jeered.

“My honor’s fine, you cheatin’ mother-sucker,” Dean huffed.

“Come on, Faith.” Rosalie’s voice dripped with venom. “Put your money where your mouth is.”

She rolled her eyes as irritation swelled. “You guys think you can bait me?”

“She’s right,” Buffy said. “There’s no point in wasting time when we finally have a chance to bring back Angel. Why would I hurt Faith when we need all hands on deck?”

_Hurt Faith?_ Bitch said that like it was a fact that she couldn’t win. B’s subconscious jab was the straw to break the camel’s back. It had been too many years that she’d been holding on to their last head-to-head. “Training room,” Faith growled. “Now.”

She marched to the room knowing there was an audience following to watch the show. She’d made it to the far side corner before a hand latched onto her arm and whirled her around. Ducky’s eyes were filled with an insulting amount of trepidation. Anyone else and she would have punched on principle.

“You don’t have to do this,” he whispered.

She didn’t respond but stared at him until he dropped his grasp with a sigh. Now he recognized that she really did. Slowly the trepidation slid away and firm confidence washed over him. “Kick her ass, Kitty.” He raised his hand and didn’t move back to the group until she’d slapped his palm.

It was a little difficult, but she blocked out her self-doubt and the chatter from others and focused on that confidence her Ducky had and her determination to deserve it. And Buffy—she might have advantages, but she hadn’t danced with the devil himself.

“Faith,” the eldest slayer said in a patent tone of superiority. “This is really unnecessary.”

“The peanut gallery wants a show, B. I’m bettin’ I’ve dusted more vamps now than you. Considering you’ve been too busy banging one the past few years.”

The flash of fire in Buffy’s eyes told Faith she’d hit her mark. Maybe it was the demon or maybe her mate, but Buffy had a little more edge than back in the day. Which was good because Faith did too.

It took a few moments of squaring off before they both jumped in and began with the physical. Faith didn’t know if B was holding back, but she was certainly giving her enough. This was gonna get ugly.

“That's right, Slayer, give it to her good!” Blondie shouted after a kick swept Faith off her feet.

“Hey!” Ducky snapped.

“Show her what you got,” Spike continued, unabashed.

Dean couldn’t keep from mouthing back. “Hey! Kick her ass, baby. I know you can…” Faith turned to tell him to stop and took a right hook to the jaw. “Oh, that looked painful.”

Spike rocked on his heels, smug. Faith jumped back and worked to regain her focus.

“Shut up,” Dean snarled. “Yours is cheating.”

“Mine has vamp strength and speed, mate.”

“What the hell did you think I meant by cheating?”

“Seems the word you're lookin' for is _better_.”

Dean snorted. “Even out the playin' field, Fay could take her any day of the week.”

“That so? Seems a knife in the gut and a nine-month-long coma might disagree with you.”

Faith was grateful to find that Buffy was also distracted as they both turned in time to watch Dean throw a punch right into one of Spike’s hollowed cheeks with a crack that was either a bone in the vampire or the other dumbass’s fist.

As the others jumped in and pulled them apart, Dean shouted. “Excuse me? How long was your slayer around before she snuffed it in a puddle? Seem to remember tale of Fay going down only by sacrificing against your fang boy.”

“Least every time mine's died she's come back stronger for it. Doesn't seem Faith's learned much of anythin'. Buffy's not impossible to take down in an honest brawl. I oughta know. Means snuffin' yours would be a piece of bloody cake.” He paused and sneered. “Not in that line of work anymore, though, count your lucky stars.”

A flush of anger filled Faith and she honestly didn’t know if it was her own or she was channeling her soulmate. All that was certain was she needed out of this room before she started stabbing people.

“Bring it on, you dead son of a bitch,” Dean roared.

“I could kill you in five seconds, boy.”

Dean reached down and snatched his Colt, cocking it as he brought it up to face Spike’s chest. “Just go ahead and bring fang to a gunfight, bitch.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Buffy huffed as she started marching toward the insolent pair.

Faith locked step. “How do you wanna—”

Her answer came from the loud smack that came as Buffy walloped her husband upside the head. “What did I tell you?”

Dean for his part took this as some signal that he’d won. “ _Ha!_ You just got told by your—”

Faith reached him and immediately went for broke as she grasped his chest and gave his nipple a hard pinch. His yelp of pain stole any fight he had left.

Buffy sighed and shook her head. “Can we please do something productive now?”

“Wait!” Rosalie whined. “You hadn’t finished kicking her ass yet.”

Faith snapped as she whirled to face the girl. “Every fucking person in this room could kick my ass and I’d still kick yours every fucking time. So instead of worrying about me, maybe just grow the fuck up.”

Storming from the training room, Faith felt as though every inch of the bunker was pressing down on her, making it impossible to breathe. Racing to the door, she barreled outside until the cool November breeze encompassed her. She gulped lungfuls of crisp air to steady herself.

Dean clutched his knees, gasping as he bounded to a stop beside her. “Was that my anxiety attack or yours?” he asked between wheezes.

“I don’t know,” she admitted as her body began to calm.

“I’m sorry,” he said as he stood and rubbed his chest where she pinched.

“We both are.”

Dean reached out and grasped her hand. “We gotta figure out a better way to handle this.”

Lacing their fingers, she gave him a gentle squeeze. “We looked and there ain’t no _Soulmates for Dummies_ , dummy. Chuck said this wasn’t gonna be easy.”

Maybe it was the excess adrenaline, but it wasn’t until the words were spoken that her senses told her two vampires were nearby. Whipping around, she saw Buffy and Spike looking at them with identical looks screaming they had totally picked up what she’d thrown down.

_Well, fuck._

*~*~*

With Percy back in England, Sabrina had few contacts left from MACUSA she could trust. She wasn’t certain on the man she’d called, but she had Cass and the security of Caritas to back her up. That didn’t mean that shit wasn’t about to get hella awkward.

“Sabrina Deanne,” he addressed coolly as he approached the table.

“Colin Kowalski,” she returned in kind.

He slipped into the seat in front of her. “You have a lot of nerve contacting me after what you did. I should apprehend you immediately.”

She swallowed. “Believe me, you have no idea what I did and why I had to.”

Colin offered up a humorless chuckle. “Same old Sabrina. Don’t tell me you’re about to give another ‘it’s not you it’s me’ speech.”

At this, Castiel stirred from his monk-like stance and cleared his throat before turning to her. “Is this man an ex-lover?”

Colin’s nostrils flared as he looked at Cass. “Are you her current?”

“I am her insurance that this meeting goes as smoothly and quickly as possible.” His tone was intimidating even to Sabrina’s familiar ears.

“Colin, I’m not here about MACUSA. We in search of a vampire. He was born Liam and became Angelus in 1727. He went by Angel after acquiring a soul, but he’s lost it and become dangerous once again.”

As an Auror, she had a suspicion he was familiar with the subject. The look in his eyes confirmed her point. “What are you getting at?”

“We’ve found his soul, but we need help locating him. Given the resources at your disposal—”

“I knew this was about MACUSA.”

“This is about saving lives,” she corrected. “He’s worked with Wolfram and Hart and they have worked for MACUSA. If there is any possible way to determine where he is… Well, it would save many lives, Colin.”

He was quiet for several moments before giving a single nod. “I’ll look into it, but no guarantees.”

Sabrina flashed a relieved smile before using her wand to write a number on a napkin. “Contact this number with anything you find. Please.”

As he stood up and walked away, Sabrina and Cass exchanged an optimistic look. They might have Angel back sooner than they hoped.

*~*~*

“Mr. Angelus.”

The vampire turned to face him with fangs fully extended. If he had anticipated a startled reaction, he’d be very disappointed. “Who are you?”

“At the moment, a friend. Enemy of my enemy and all that lot.”

“I doubt that,” Angelus snarled as he took a menacing step forward.

Holding up a hand, he halted the vampire in his tracks. “You may be Angelus, but I’m Crowley.”

The name drop didn’t impress the vampire, but he carried on. “A few months back you ex-girlfriend stole something very valuable to both of us. I want it back and you want me to have it back.”

Angelus looked skeptical. “And what is that?”

“Your soul.”


End file.
